The Miseducation of Captain Swann
by h8erade
Summary: Elizabeth's adventures post AWE. If pirates are free men, what does it mean for Elizabeth to become a pirate? Not your typical Sparrabeth, but the story definitely revolves around their complicated relationship. Set mostly in Shipwreck Cove. Will follow first 3 movies pretty well, with some small changes to address unsatisfactory whelp issues and some liberties with Lizzie's past.
1. Chapter 1

_**This will be a story mostly from Elizabeth Swann's perspective, set mostly after AWE. I will be playing around a bit with her past. I ship Sparrowbeth, so I wasn't happy with the ending of AWE, so in this story things didn't go smoothly with her beach honeymoon with Will. This will probably be a lot about transitions: transitioning from being the governors daughter to becoming a pirate to becoming pirate king to retiring as a pirate and figuring out what next. I will also be exploring social norms and gender expectations in the 18th century in high society vs pirate society and maybe some world travel and juxtaposition of different cultures. I'll also throw in some fantastical, magical elements where I can. My plan is to keep this story rated "T", though I love smut, my plan is to post smutty chapters elsewhere if the muse takes me there, I'll let you know where to go for the smut if you're into that. I've got lots of ideas for where this story might go, but let me know what you think. I write slow, so I'll be updating, but not regularly.**_

 _ **Disney owns all the things. I'm just borrowing their characters and their world.**_

* * *

Chp 1

He had thought to let her sleep in, but they needed extra hands on deck after losing a few men in battle and some were still nursing injuries from the battle. Everyone was moving with a little less grace, being stiff and sore from yesterday's exertions. He needed her help.

She was still a novice in sailing, but hard working, a quick study and fearless, for better or worse. She wanted to learn, wanted to prove herself and work at least as hard as the other pirates to do it.

Seeing her now, he never would have pegged her as the daughter of a governor. A spoiled rich girl with a pretty gown and an empty head that never knew an honest day's work. She surprised him. He liked that.

She had rowed herself back to the Pearl in the dark. She didn't cry, as he expected her to. He was glad for that. It wasn't that he was unprepared to comfort a crying woman, but he preferred not to given the circumstances.

She didn't say much at all, but asked for a drink. He obliged her by sharing a bottle from his own collection. When she was falling asleep drunk at the table, he carried her to his berth.

In her haze, she nuzzled him, whispered something sweet he couldn't quite make out and kissed his neck. That was both a delicious and painful moment. He tucked her in and gave her a chaste kiss on the forehead. He briefly debated joining her in the bunk but decided against it, quickly stringing up a hammock for himself and collapsing for the night.

* * *

In the morning light, he watched her from the helm. She was back in boys clothes. As much as he complained about her choice of attire in the past, he found himself captivated by her. Bare feet and calves where she had rolled up her pant legs out of the slosh of the sea. The curve of her hip when she bent to coil a rope. When she leaned forward, the flash of burgundy sash that bound her small breast flat, just visible as her shirt collar gapped.

"Stop looking at the girl," said a low voice in his ear, "and keep your eyes on the rocks on the starboard side." It was Gibbs. Bloody Gibbs. "You've said it yourself, it'll never work out. Go find yourself a distraction tonight when we make port."

Captain Sparrow adjusted his heading slightly to avoid said rocks. "She's a proper pirate lass now, Gibbs. It could work out," he said.

"Except that she just married the Captain of the Flying Dutchman," said Gibbs, shaking his head, "or have you forgotten that she just celebrated her nuptials yesterday?"

"I'm well aware of that complication," said the Captain, clearing his throat and adjusting himself, "no seaman would risk angering the man who is responsible for ferrying him into the afterlife, but surely a man can enjoy the view, can't he?"

"Until your other complication catches you at it," said Gibbs. "I'm sure I heard a women or two asking after you when we landed a couple days ago at shipwreck city?"

Yes. Damn it, Gibbs. "We're just friends," said the Captain annoyed.

Gibbs mouth twitched into a knowing smile, "friendlier than most. Enjoy the view while you can," he laughed and left the captain to his thoughts and the scenery.

* * *

Everything hurt. Her head ached from last night's drinking. Her body ached from yesterday's battle. Her heart ached from losing everyone from her old life in Port Royal.

She could have slept the day away, but despite it all, she was glad that Jack had roused her and asked for her help on deck. It gave her purpose. At least for today. She liked feeling useful. She preferred it, in fact, to being pampered.

The rest of the crew was just as weary. They greeted her with shy smiles and pats on the back. Her adopted family of oddball uncles. She was glad that no one was particularly chatty this morning, preferring to focus on her work. She was not in the mood to talk about... her situation. She didn't want to think about it. Just focus on hauling and coiling rope.

Once they were on their way she went below deck to check on the injured. Half a dozen men unable to sail lay in bunks or hammocks. Injuries from swords, strikes and shrapnel. Open wounds bandaged. They would make it, if the fever didn't take them. Captain Sparrow insisted, despite their protests, that their wounds must be washed with either rum or salt water. The pain associated with this was the driving out of bad humours that would otherwise fester.

She gave them watered down rum and changed a dressing that had bled through overnight. She did not let her mind drift to the carnage of yesterday, where she had taken the life of more than one man, where her life had hung in the balance on more than one occasion. She would not take it for granted. Some angel must have been smiling down on her to escape such a battle with nothing but minor cuts and bruises.

Whenever she found her mind drifting. She forced herself to focus on the present. It was best to keep busy. She went to the galley to find Cotton fixing a meal for the crew. She liked working with Cotton, he was was always patient and kind to her while she learned the ropes.

It was strange in a way, that she had an extensive knowledge of naval strategy, tactics and historical battles from listening in on her father's business meetings and dinner parties, yet she was still learning what was actually involved in sailing a ship. She hadn't really been on any significant voyages since landing in the Caribbean. It wasn't until she sailed to world's end that she insisted on working as part of the crew. The others laughed, but Cotton took the time to teach her and was impressed at her tenacity and ability.

He was making porridge. He nodded at a bowl of apples and a knife and she set to peeling and chopping them to add to the porridge. She'd never seen so many apples before meeting Captain Barbosa. They seemed to follow him wherever he went. Where does one get apples in the Caribbean? Or Singapore?

Singapore. The only one on her mind to and from Singapore - to world's end and back again, was at the helm of this ship. How things had changed between them. She had thought maybe she could win his forgiveness and his heart. She had at least won his respect. Enough for him to elect her King, but not enough for another kiss. How could she blame him?

She put her knife down. Her eyes misting over. Her heart ached with emptiness and regret. How would this have gone differently if he had forgiven her on that beach? It seemed she was losing everything she loved. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until she felt Cotton's hand on her shoulder. She wiped her eyes and smiled at him, shaking her head, "I'm fine," she lied.

Cotton gave her shoulder a squeeze and ducked his head to catch her eye. She squeezed him back, "I will be fine," she said and kissed his cheek. He smiled and nodded, letting her go.

They finished making breakfast. She took a tray to the makeshift infirmary. She helped a couple of the men eat their breakfast and was just finishing up when Captain Sparrow walked in. She almost dropped her spoon. Why did she feel so flustered around him?

"How are you all holding up?" Captain Sparrow said to no one in particular.

"Better now that this lad brought us breakfast," said a pirate who was likely to lose his leg.

The Captain raised a questioning eyebrow at his choice of pronoun. "Well, we should make port in time for supper and get you all properly patched up, but I'll need to steal your nursemaid and put her back to work sailing."

Elizabeth gathered up all the empty bowls and spoons on her tray, "aye, Captain." She brushed past him and he followed her into the narrow hallway.

"Lizzie," he said, tapping her shoulder. She stopped so suddenly he nearly ran into her. "If there's anything you need, just let me know."

Her heart skipped a beat at the sound of this pet name. Why did he say that? If she wasn't carrying this blasted tray she might have spun around into his arms for comfort. She sighed. Glad in a way. She didn't want to appear weak or needy. She didn't want him to get the wrong idea. "Thank you, Jack," she said composing herself. "Just keep me busy. I don't want to be alone with my thoughts."

"Of course," he said, stopping himself from taking her thin frame into his arms. "Make sure you eat something before you come on deck."

* * *

"Would you like me to take us through the devils throat?" Asked Barbosa, as they approached Shipwreck Island. "You seem a little preoccupied with undressing a certain pirate King with your eyes."

Sparrow was annoyed. Was he really being so obvious about it? "I'm perfectly capable of taking us through the throat," he replied.

"So what are your intentions with the Dutchman's wife?" Asked Barbosa. When Sparrow didn't answer he added, "she sent you to Davy Jones locker once, are you so enamoured with the place that you'd cuckold Turner for a second trip?"

"A man look, can't he?" Said Sparrow testily.

"You weren't in Singapore to see her legs," said Barbosa taking in the view. Sparrow did not like to hear that Barbosa had seen her legs or the suggestion that so had most of Singapore. She was coiling a line, oblivious, it seemed, to the Captains' attention. "She's determined, that one is. So focused on bring you back, poor Will Turner didn't know how to fight for her. I was surprised she married him, but you didn't give her much of a choice."

"She did send me to my death and destroyed the Pearl in the process," snapped Sparrow. "She could hardly have expected a warm welcome from me."

"Bollocks," cried Barbosa, "the Kraken would have caught up to you sooner or later. She's right to have saved herself and the crew while she could... and you know it."

Sparrow shot Barbosa an eye full of daggers, but the older captain stared him down. Sparrow relented, Barbosa was right. It was only a matter of time before the Kraken got him.

"You don't know what she went through to secure your rescue," said Barbosa his face darkening with the memory. "Doesn't really matter now though, does it? You made your choice, she made hers. Now, like the pirate rouge that you are, you only want what belongs to another man."

* * *

 **Well, let me know if you like it. A couple of things I haven't decided on is what exactly happened on the beach between Will and Elizabeth other than it wasn't all as lovey-dovey as in the movie. I'm not sure if they decide to break it off or if it's like high schoolers who promise their sweethearts they'll stay together even though they're going to different universities and then a month into classes, living in residence, frosh parties, etc. they realize it's not going to work. The other thing I'm not totally settled on is what Barbosa means when he says "you don't know what she went through to secure your rescue" what kind of sacrifices did Elizabeth make to ensure that Jack was saved?**


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter 2 is finally ready, sorry it took me so long. This was actually my plan for chapter 3, I wrote and rewrote the original chapter 2 three or four times - not just tweaks but completely different directions, but nothing was really working for me. It was either boring or involved too much foreshadowing that wouldn't work because I don't exactly know what's coming and I can't go back to edit once this is posted, so I decided the best course of action was to scrap it entirely and ended up with this chapter. Trying not to go "M" rated and trying not to go too dark, so far I think I'm good, but let me know what you think. Hope you enjoy.**_

 _ **Disney owns all the things. I'm just borrowing their characters and their world.**_

* * *

Chp 2

He stepped into the Mermaid Inn. It was busy, but not crowded. He spotted her at the bar. She smiled when she saw him. "Jack Sparrow!" she cried and stepped over to embrace him and kiss his cheek.

"Ruthy, darling," he said, hugging her back, "good to see you... and it's Captain, Captain Jack Sparrow."

She rolled her eyes at him and chuckled. For all his bravado he was still so insecure. "Are you paying?" she asked going back to her seat, her eyes scanning the room full of men. "I've got no time for you right now if you're not paying. Come back in a few weeks when things slow down."

"C'mon Ruthy luv," he said, with a twinkle in his eye, "I just saved this bloody island from the British navy and EIC. That's worth something isn't it?"

"It's worth me not asking for the money you owe me the last time you came to visit," she said sternly, but couldn't sustain her frown. She liked him. He was an old friend and a regular when he was in town, which was rare in recent years.

"Just one night, sweetheart," he said sidling up to her and running his fingers down her back. She leaned into his touch. He kissed her low on her cheek almost at her jawline, she felt his breath on her neck as he slowly pulled away. "Help a lonely man forget his troubles," his whisper a soft growl in her ear. His longing clear as he leaned in and pressed himself against her.

She pushed him away with a laugh, "you're a scoundrel, Jack Sparrow," she said. "I need to work tonight. With this many 'lonely' men in the City, the money's good. I can have my pick. Right now, my pick is whoever pays the most."

It was true, on a slow night he could probably find a free ride, but business was business and these girls had bills to pay. Jack dropped a small purse of coins on the bar. "That should cover my debt and your company for the night," he said with a grin. All this back and forth on Beckett's ship, he was able to tuck a few things in his sash to sell.

He was all swagger that Jack Sparrow, she thought. Hard to resist, but business was business. She opened the purse, counted the coins and nodded. She tucked the purse into her bosom for safe keeping. "Well then, Captain Jack Sparrow," she said, sliding into his arms, "shall we get a room?"

* * *

Steaming hot water and the smell of lavender. It reminded Elizabeth of her mother. She was soaking in a wooden tub, in a small clean room on the first floor of an inn.

By the door was a bell pull that could be used to call for assistance. Her old clothes and effects were strewn about the floor where she had dropped them. A shelf held a stack of thick Turkish towels. A fresh chemise and simple dress was draped on the back of a chair.

There was a drain in the middle of the floor. A pump which drew hot water from one of many hot springs that riddled the former volcanic island cove stood next to the drain. A bucket, a ladle, a pitcher sat next to the pump. There was a dressing stand next to that, with a mirror, comb, brush, and other accessories.

There were two small high windows shuttered for privacy. A few lit candles scattered about gave the room a warm glow.

Having spent the last year on crowded pirate ships, privacy was a luxury. Bathing was a luxury. Hot water and soap and clean clothes were something she would only dream about.

She used to dream about other things. She dreamed about a beautiful wedding. She once dreamed about getting married to the man she loved. She dreamed about a small house by the blacksmiths shop. She dreamed about having children. She dreamed about living the simple life.

These were daydreams. The kinds of things that occupied her mind on the way to finding the dead man's chest. The kinds of things she was supposed to dream about. It was proper for her to dream about spending her life with Will. He was her best friend. Her father named him her charge the she found him. And though they may have had different stations in life, he was the one for her. Everyone could see that, even if they might not agree with it. They were meant to be together.

But at night she would dream about another man. She would dream about the one kiss they shared. Their bodies pressed together. His arms around her. Lips parted. The kiss that haunted her.

This kiss wasn't out of love. It wasn't a kiss goodbye. It wasn't an apology for what she was about to do. It wasn't because she wanted him... Wanted him to know how she felt, before she would never see him again. It was only to trick him, she told herself. To ensure that she and the others could get away safe. She was only doing what she had to do. It was better to be cold blooded than be in love with this other man..? To keep true to Will..?

This is what she told herself during her waking hours while pushing away the image of this man. The man who, without a thought to his own safety, saved her life more than once. The man who had returned her kiss with a passion she had not ever experienced before or after. The man whose gaze could take her breath away and send her heart racing.

The look he gave her when he realized her betrayal was seared into her mind. She couldn't read those liquid brown eyes when he found himself manacled to the mast and called her a pirate. She didn't know if she should take it as an insult or compliment. Did he condemn her with this title? This word spat at her like a curse or whispered like a lover, it rang in her ears whenever things got too quiet. Times like this, when the battle was over and there was nothing left to do. Pirate.

No. It was Will that she loved, as she pushed Jack out of her mind again. They had planned a life together. Everything was settled. The wedding was planned. The guests. Her dress. Their living arrangements. He was the love of her life, she told herself again and again and felt guilty every time, because deep down she knew a pirate had stolen her heart.

Why did she marry Will? To make her dreams come true? Well, it didn't work out, did it? How could this work out? Her heart broke every time she let herself think about it. Her husband lost to her for 10 years. There would be no simple life, no babies, none of the things they talked about during their engagement. There would be no future together. One day every ten years. How could it possibly work out? She cried, thinking herself a fool, but how could she know he would die?

She felt so alone. She ached for someone to hold her. She want so badly to be held her skin screamed to be touched. She held her breath and closed her eyes and plunged beneath the hot bath water.

How easy would it be to let go of this world? She could be with a Will and his father on the Dutchman. To be with her husband and sail by his side. There was nothing tying her here. No home, no family, no children, no place in the high society where she was born and bred. Port Royal would not have her now. Not with a price on her head. A couple of deep breaths to fill her lungs with water could make all of this hurt go away.

* * *

"Tell me about the king," said Ruth, propping herself up on an elbow, her other arm, under the covers, snaked around his waist. "I heard she's young and pretty. Who is she? No one seems to know her."

Hmm... Jack frowned, wanting to savour that sleepy postcoital contentment for a moment. Did he come here to get Elizabeth off his mind or to fantasize about her? He didn't like not having what he wanted. It vexed him. But the thought of her rejection would be more than he could bear.

"C'mon Jack," said Ruth, sliding her hand down his thigh, "everyone's been asking, who is this girl that has Jack Sparrow so wrapped up he'd vote her king. She must be something special."

"She is," he said admitted, kissing her and pulling her on top of him. "She surprises me. Smart and bossy and... I don't know..." He sounded wistful. When did Jack Sparrow ever sound wistful, unless he was talking about that boat of his?

"Oh," nodded Ruth knowingly. She smiled. She loved that she got to catch a glimpse of this side of Jack Sparrow. That she had his confidence, enough to be vulnerable even if he wasn't being forthright. "You're smitten," she teased. "Is she a good kisser?" she asked, kissing him lightly on the mouth.

The question caught him off guard. They had kissed once. The one time before she shackled him to the mast. The one time before she left him for dead. To save herself and his crew. That was it. That was the moment when he knew that it could work out between them. Because she wouldn't let her feelings cloud her judgement. She would do whatever it took to survive. He never desired her more than in that moment when he knew she had out smarted him. His eyes narrowed at the memory, even now he could feel his desire growing.

"Ah," whispered Ruth, "she was a good kisser," taking note of his demeanour. She shifted her weight, to straddle him. "So why are you here with me? Is she no good in bed," Ruth giggled.

"It's not like that," he said pushing her away. "We're not like that. Besides, she's married."

Ruth was surprised. Surprised that he had kissed this woman, but not slept with her. Surprised at the longing she heard in his voice. Surprised that he would push her away rather than take her as a proxy. She had never heard him speaking longingly about a woman. "So she's the one you came to forget?" she asked gently. "I heard she was widowed."

He grunted in response and turned his back, snuggling into the pillows. "It's complicated," he mumbled. He decided didn't really want to talk about it.

He didn't want to confront his own cowardice. Elizabeth hadn't trusted him to do the right thing. She felt it necessary to trick him into facing the Kraken.

He would have done it. Probably. He probably would have stayed on the Pearl of his own volition. But she gave him an out, someone to blame for his demise. It broke his heart a little to see how hurt she looked when he did blame her, in front of everyone. Accused her of murder, a cold heartless wench to be wary of, not a coddled princess to have and to hold.

But she saved the crew. Would he have done the right thing without her help? He sighed a long deep sigh, "it would never work out. She's too good for me."

Ruth snuggled into his back, wrapping an arm around him. "Perhaps you should let her decide that," she suggested.

"I didn't pay you for advice," he said, annoyed with himself for letting his guard down. He was usually good at keeping things professional with the girls he slept with. Elizabeth Swann had gotten under his skin. He didn't like that one bit.

"No," she replied, a little hurt and embarrassed that she had over stepped that boundary between being a whore and being a friend. Harder to know where that line was with regulars, especially ones she hadn't seen in awhile. She tried not to take things personally. "The advice is free."

* * *

They say you can drown in a teaspoon of water. The last time Elizabeth almost drowned it was hardly a drowning at all. For a proper drowning to take place one needed to have water in their lungs. Hers were so constricted by that blasted corset she fainted and fell off the wall of the Fort, but she never drew a breath underwater.

She imagined this cocoon of bath water was not unlike being in the womb. Surrounded by warmth. She could hear her heart beating in her ears. It was strong and steady. It did not know the state of her mind. Her hair floated around her. Her body curled comfortably in the bottom of the tub. She felt calm. Just one deep breath and she could be on her way back in her husband's arms. Just one deep breath and her heartache could end.

She exhaled a slow steady stream of bubbles. She hugged herself and opened her eyes under water. Her mind was calm. She was ready. Her lungs began to strain for air. Her body was fighting for it. Just take one breath, she told herself, and be reborn in another world. She breathed in.

* * *

He sat up in bed with a start. Something wasn't right. He felt something constrict in his chest. He gasped for breath.

"Jack," She said, startled and concerned, "what it is? What's wrong?"

His chest heaving for air, when it finally came it sent him into a fit of coughing. Finally, it passed. He leaned back his breathing calmed, but was left with a kind of pain where his heart should be.

She soothed his brow. "What happened?" she asked kissing him, calming him. He held her gently, distracted, returning her kisses.

"I don't know," he said, "something is wrong." He felt some familiar anxiety but couldn't put his finger on it. Some memory of plunging into the ocean. An accident? Something or someone lost at sea?

"It's alright," she said, holding him tight, his heart still pounding in his chest. She knew something of the trauma that all pirates faced. Bad dreams and fitful sleep were common with her clientele. "You're fine. You're safe here."

"Something doesn't feel right," he said. He was agitated. He got up and rummaged around the room for his clothes and effects. He dressed quickly in the dark. "I'm going to the Pearl to see if anything is wrong," he said as he slipped out of the room and into the night.

* * *

 _ **That's all for now. Thanks disneyfangirl2015 and guest for the reviews and everyone else for the favourites and follows. I appreciate your feedback.**_


	3. Chapter 3

_**I'm quickly learning that when I think I know where a story's going, I should be prepared for it to go somewhere else entirely. Thanks Guest for the lovely review. hope you enjoy this chp as well :)**_

 _ **Disney owns all the things. I'm just borrowing the characters and the world for some fun.**_

* * *

Chp 3

She breathed in.

Pirate.

His voice rang in her ears. A curse.

Pirate.

Her chest filled with water and her body immediately and violently rejected this attempt at drowning. Her body thrashed forcing her to surface coughing up water and heaving for air. Hitting her head hard on the tub's cover she went back under. She was dizzy and lightheaded from the lack of oxygen.

She imagined fighting her way out of the howling maw of the kraken, it's tentacles choking her, dragging her under. What penance must she pay for condemning a man who did her no harm?

Pirate.

He had pulled her out of the sea when she fell off the fort wall at Port Royal. He helped her swim ashore when Barbosa ordered them to be marooned on a desert island. He kept her afloat when they parachuted from the sinking Dutchman, keeping her calm in frigid rough waters until a longboat from the Pearl came to fetch them. Where was he now to rescue her from these troubled waters? Who was she to ask for his help?

She surfaced, clinging to the side of the tub with shaking hands, her body convulsing as she coughed up water. Elizabeth could not catch her breath. She was vomiting over the side of the tub. Her nose and throat burned as her diaphragm forced water from her body. She felt her grip slipping, she wasn't getting enough air to keep from seeing stars. She was going to blackout and slip back under the water.

Pirate.

* * *

Captain Sparrow wasn't particularly prone to premonitions, however he had learned to follow his gut. He gut was telling him that something was wrong. He needed to find out what it was.

He took out his compass to get a bearing when he stumbled out of the Mermaid tavern. This anxiety, this deep foreboding sadness, sat somewhere between the back of his throat and his chest. He just needed to see her, make sure she was alright. For once, "she" did not mean the Black Pearl, though he was not ready to admit it to Ruth.

He kept a brisk pace up the street, but did not run. Captain Jack Sparrow was not one to run, unless he was being chased. Besides, whatever was worrying him was making it hard to catch his breath.

He assumed the worst. That she was kidnapped or raped or dead. She didn't know this city or how dangerous it could be. Especially for women. Especially after dark. He ran.

* * *

Somehow in her thrashing she kicked out the plug in the side of the tub. She was still gasping for breath and fighting to keep her head up as the waters receded. She collapsed, exhausted on the bottom of the draining bathtub. Her body alternated between tensing with coughing and retching, then lying limp with exertion.

She struggled to her hands and knees in the tub and focused on regaining control of her breathing. Her body still forcing water out of her. All the muscles along her belly and sides convulsed until they cramped.

This life was full of pain. She just wanted to curl up and die.

* * *

The compass led Jack two blocks north, away from the taverns, brothels and pawn shops that lined the docks, to an alleyway. He was terrified of what he might find. Dark alleys had a reputation for a reason: bad things happened to people in dark alleys. Especially bad things happened to women, most especially pretty, young, innocent looking women like Elizabeth.

Damn. He shouldn't have let her out of his sight. After their anticlimactic powwow with the brethren, where Ching, Villanueva and Sumbhajee announced their retirements, and everyone agreed to go their separate ways. The battle was over. There was no need to continue their alliance with Calypso unbound and Davy Jones dead. In fact, it was probably smarter and safer for everyone to go their separate ways so that the navy would need to spread thin their armada against them.

He had left her with Teague to find accommodations for the night, while he looked for a distraction. A distraction from his ungentlemanly thoughts of her. Of them. He should have stayed with her, at least until she was settled in.

* * *

Elizabeth was filled with shame. Suicide. She was not new to grief and depression. She had been fighting bouts of it since her mother's death, when she was a child. She had become expert in hiding it. Keeping busy. Keeping up appearances.

Everyone she loved was gone. There was no one left to keep up appearances for. There was nothing left to keep her busy. Being pirate king was a farce. It only lasted as long as the next vote. There were too many factions to hold this armada together.

Toss it all. She didn't care. No one was left to care about her. She didn't even see him leave the tavern. He didn't even say goodbye. He just left her with Teague and slipped away.

Why did this sting so much? Why did her heart ache for him? Her eyes wet with tears. He didn't owe her anything. She didn't deserve his attention.

She was all alone. Everything that she had done in her life, good and bad, led her here. All the grief of this life flooded her in a great wave. Elizabeth found herself sobbing.

* * *

The compass pointed to a wall. Elizabeth was behind this wall. There were two windows, too high to look in. He could hear the sound of a woman crying. Elizabeth crying. Was she hurt? He found a crate to push up under the window.

He managed to look into the room through the slats of the shutter. It was not what he was expecting. He thought he might find her in the clutches of the worst kind of men doing things to her that the worst kind of men would do. She was alone in the bath. Damn the man who invented covered baths.

He was so relieved to see her safe, he almost fell off the crate. But she was crying. The sound of every sob was so like a knife to his heart he had to blink back his own tears.

Of course. She just lost her whelp husband in battle. He sighed. Was that it? Was it her grief that had him up and running to her? He was losing it.

He wanted to comfort her. Really he did. But he was worried he might end up comforting her... too much. That would be bad. That might be a ticket back to the locker. She had sent him there once with a kiss, he wasn't going to make the same trip again, on the same ticket. At least Ruthy had taken the edge off. He should be less selfish.

He wanted to call out to her, but what could he say from here? That he followed his heart to see her bathing? How low she must think of him. He hit his head against the wall and gathered his thoughts. He climbed down and followed the compass to the front door of the inn.

* * *

When there were no tears left and she was cold from lying damp and naked in the tub, she mustered the strength to get up. Cleaned up the vomit and rinsed herself off with water from the pump.

She dried off and worked a comb through the knots in her hair. Impossible. It had been too long. She looked at her dagger considering her options. Perhaps she should just twist it into ropes like Jack Sparrow.

She opened the cupboard and found a bottle of vinegar hair tonic and a pot of sweet smelling salve. The vinegar helped to ease the tangles, though she was still combing out fists full of hair.

It has been months since she had a mirror to see herself. She knew her body had changed. Her pants has become so baggy, she was constantly retying her sash to keep them from slipping off her hips. Her hands and feet were thick with callouses from running on deck and working the ropes.

She hardly recognized herself in the mirror. This brown skinned pirate with sun bleached hair. Her face was sharp and drawn, cheekbones more prominent than she remembered. Bags under her eyes from too many sleepless nights and fitful dreams; red and puffy from crying.

Her body had lost all trace of softness. She was hard and lean. Her ribs and hip bones showed, even in this dim light, as she rubbed her skin with salve. Her fingers traced cuts and scabs where she hadj been touched by a blade. Nothing too deep. Nothing that wouldn't heal with time. She was covered in bruises from battle, from sailing, from rough handling while taken prisoner on two different ships. Scars branded her. She closed her eyes against those memories.

She could lift and carry as much or more than a man her size. She could climb the rigging as fast as any man. She held her own in a sword fight. She led an armada of disparate men against the Royal Navy and won.

While the pirate life had its hardships, it also had its rewards. She would never experience this kind of freedom nor be respected as an equal to men, never mind a leader of men, in her old life in Port Royal. She realized that her life need not be defined by the men around her. She need not be known as the governor's daughter or the Dutchman's wife. She was captain of her own life. Tonight was her baptism. This was her rebirth.

Pirate.

His voice rang in her ears. A blessing.

Pirate.

* * *

 _ **Alright, so I'm thinking maybe one more chp to round out the night and sort out where everyone's at. who knows there might even be some smooching...? then we'll stop with the navel gazing and do some exploring. please favourite, follow and review.**_


	4. Chapter 4

_**Well, here's the next instalment. Thanks to River and Scarlet Woman for the reviews and follows, let me know what you think about this one.**_

* * *

Chp 4

The sun set early on this part of the cove. While the streets were already deep in shadow, the sky was still blue, though deepening to black. It was quieter on the streets than he thought, though most would be down by the docks celebrating.

She wasn't celebrating. Damn, he was an ass, of course she wouldn't be. He felt guilty and anxious for leaving her friendless to fend for herself in this damn city.

He rounded the corner and saw a familiar blue sign. Of course, he thought, of course, Teague would bring her to Esmeralda's inn. This town was too small. Rumour was they had become close. He didn't really care to know how close.

The door chimed he walked in. A few people were at the bar or around tables, taking their supper. It smelled good. He realized he'd forgotten about supper, being focused on other activities. His stomach growled. Esmeralda must have found a new cook, she was never much for cooking herself.

"Jackie!" A deep voice called out. It sent shivers down his spine. Always made him feel like he was in trouble. Teague was a mostly absentee father, though he did discipline him on more than one occasion and ensured that Jack learned to read, write, and play the guitar. That set Jack apart from most of his childhood friends. Sailing, on the other hand, was like breathing if you grew up in Shipwreck. Like swimming, walking or climbing ropes, it was simply something you did, and in fact was required to get around to parts of the city.

Jack turned to see Teague and Gibbs at a table with Esmeralda. She hadn't changed a bit. Still good looking. He wasn't sure how his heart would feel about seeing her. So far nothing. He relaxed a little. He also felt a touch better knowing that Gibbs had stayed with Elizabeth. A familiar face.

"Captain, Sparrow!" cried Gibbs, startled to see him. He was quite sure that he saw him disappear into the Mermaid Inn not three hours earlier. "Something the matter sir?" he asked, trying to read the look on Jack's face, as he walked over to their table.

He bent to kiss Esmeralda's cheek in greeting, as was their tradition. "I was told that I shouldn't expect to see you til tomorrow at the earliest," she said, her lips finding his cheek to return the hello.

"Well, you should be mistaken," he grunted, awkward as ever. "Mr. Gibbs," he asked, turning to his first mate, "have you seen Elizabeth?"

"Miss Swann, er, I mean Mrs. Turner," stuttered Gibbs, "wasn't feeling well and retired to a bath. Did you know that they hooked the plumbing directly into one of the hot springs in the cove? Don't even have to boil the bath water anymore."

"Ah, I see," said Jack trying to figure a way of getting out of this idle chit chat and down the hall to Elizabeth. But Teague pulled out a chair and motioned for him to sit and join them. His stomach growled at the smell of stew.

"Join us," rumbled Teague, "the stew's mutton and the bread is fresh made today. A nice change from hardtack and fish, I'll gather."

A bowl and spoon were quickly procured and Jack found himself sitting next to his father tucking into a heel of bread sopped in think gravy. He didn't think he'd miss the taste of meat so much, but it was unexpectedly satisfying and meant that he had and excuse not to join their conversation about farming flightless birds and growing potatoes. Agriculture was one culture that he found exceedingly boring.

* * *

Her hair was still damp when she entered the bar. She was wearing a borrowed dress. It was modest with long sleeves and a high neck. It was ugly and ill fitting, but at least it was clean. She shuffled the skirt down to her hips, as it was too wide for her waist and short for her legs. She hated it, but told herself she wasn't here to impress anyone.

She hated it more when she saw that Jack Sparrow was sitting with Teague and the others. She chided herself for being vain and thought to return to her room, but wanted to clarify something with Teague and she was here now. She wished she had at least taken the time to pin up her hair.

"Elizabeth," called Gibbs, waving her over. Damn, she thought, as the others at the table turned to see her. She swallowed her shallow pride, straightening her shoulders and walking over.

What was Jack doing here? Why did she find his presence so unnerving now, where before he had only ever made her feel safe and secure? She could feel her heart racing as she approached, glad that the dim light would hide her blushing. She looked away when their eyes met.

She felt like everyone in the room could see through her. That she could desire another man so soon after the death of her husband. It was scandalous and shamed her. A man who had made it quite clear to her and everyone on the crew that he wanted no part of her. He did not trust her. Not even for a chaste hug or kiss in thanks and goodbye before she rowed off to see Will for the last time.

Besides, it would never work out between them. She couldn't remember who had said it first, but it was something they seemed to agree on, though it broke her heart to think it now.

Focus. She was not here to think about Jack Sparrow. "Gentlemen, Esmeralda," she said in greeting as she approached.

"Everything is well in hand for the memorial tomorrow," said Esmeralda. It had been decided at the meeting of the brethren that afternoon that a formal ceremony would be held to remember those lost in battle. "There is nothing for you to worry about. We will sail out at noon."

Elizabeth nodded, suddenly overwhelmed with emotion. She swallowed hard, but couldn't find her voice. How could she have let the memorial slip her mind? People died because she had called them to battle. They might still be alive if she chose differently. Or perhaps more would have died. Here she was worrying about the fit of her dress and matters of the heart. She stood there stupidly blinking back tears. Teague was saying something. Damn. She wiped her eyes quickly with a corner of her sleeve. She was a mess.

"I'm sorry Captain," she said, realizing she was being offered a seat next to Jack. He was so close his shoulder brushed against hers. She leaned a little away from him, hugging herself. Making herself small. Invisible. He smelled of salt and rum and that musky sweaty man smell that she shouldn't find attractive, but made her weak in the knees. She wanted to feel his arms around her. She wanted to bury her head in his shoulder. People died and and she was distracted by the scent of a man. She wanted to disappear. She turned her back to him and focused on Teague. "What was that? I'm afraid I'm not quite myself tonight."

"Just inviting you to join us for some stew," he said gently, setting a bowl and spoon before her. "You should eat well while you're here. You're wasting away on ships rations."

"Thank you," she said picking up her spoon. Pushing away the memory of dying men, some by her sword. The sound of their cries lingered in her mind. She took a moment to gather her thoughts. "Actually Captain, there's something else, I came to ask for clarification as to who is paying my way. As you know, I haven't a penny to my name. There was no bounty to divide from the battle. I don't want to be a burden or to live off the charity of others. I would rather find a job and pay my own way." Act normal. Stay focused.

People assumed that a governors daughter would be a spoiled brat, good for nothing but looking pretty and providing heirs to whatever upper class husband she was married off to. It was her lot to be taken care of by others. Something Jack felt he would never be able to do to her satisfaction. And so he once told her it would never work out. But he had an inkling, now confirmed, that she wanted to make her own way in life. It could work out. Or it could have, maybe, if he realized this sooner and she hadn't married that whelp.

Jack frowned and shifted in his seat. She smelled of lavender. An unruly lock of hair came untucked from behind her ear. He chewed on a hangnail to keep his hand from reaching over to tuck it back. His foot bumped hers under the table. He felt her recoil at his touch. "Sorry," he mumbled.

What? Oh, it's Jack. She was so wound up. Calm down. Act normal. She relaxed and smiled apologetically at him. Put her foot back down. Her foot brushing against his.

"As you know from this afternoons meeting with the brethren," Teague replied, "the Pearl will have free access to the stores for repairs and reprovisioning. As for your room here, this dinner and other sundry, you may consider it charity or our debt to you. The brethren have all agreed to contribute to make your stay at Shipwreck City more comfortable. Pirates may not be known for their charity, but we're fair and we take care of our own."

She nodded. Our own. She was one of them now. That warmed her heart more than he could know. She could feel some of the tension leaving her body. "Thank you," she said taking a bite of stew. A simple dish of meat and herbs, but well seasoned and the meat perfectly tender. She had to remind herself to take dainty bites as her throat was still sore from earlier exertions. Her head was already elsewhere. It was best not to dwell. She had to talk to Tai Huang. First thing tomorrow, she told herself.

"Perhaps we should clarify as well," said Teague, considering her words. "It was assumed that you would be returning to Port Royal, on the first ship available or perhaps once the Pearl was repaired. But I wonder if that is your intention given that you're looking for work. Will you be going back to Jamaica?"

Elizabeth stopped with the spoon halfway to her mouth. Port Royal? She set her spoon down and looked at Teague. "No," she said, surprised at their assumption. "There's nothing for me there but a hangman's noose." She worried the scar on her arm. She was marked. Didn't they know?

"Surely, you have someone to take you in, lass," said Gibbs. He'd known Elizabeth since she was a young girl. He never thought much of girls, especially girls of her class, though Elizabeth had proved herself to him time and again.

"No," said Elizabeth quietly, quite certain her society friends would be happy to turn her in, the gossip surrounding her arrest on her wedding day was certainly not something that she could ever live down. At best she could hope for their pity.

She had seen things they could not begin to imagine. She had killed people. There were things, wonderful and awful, that she could never unsee. Things that fundamentally changed how she viewed the world. She would be entirely alone in questioning her Christian faith. The god she prayed to all her life, the teachings of the church, could never have prepared her for her trip to worlds end and bring a man back from the dead, nor to see Will alive with his heart cut out of his chest. All of the fantastically stories of her childhood come to life. If they didn't hang her for being a pirate, might they burn her for her heretical thoughts?

Jack watched her carefully. She was upset, that was obvious. He tapped her foot lightly with his under the table. Tap tap. Come back to us, lass. Don't get lost in that pretty head full of dark thoughts. She looked at him a little blankly. Then she tapped him back once. His right foot and her left foot touching under the table.

"What about England? Surely, you still have relatives there," added Esmeralda, trying to be helpful.

"No," Elizabeth's whispered response. Hers was a small family, Word of her arrest left her disowned. Distant relatives asking for their wedding gifts to be returned. Her poor father was so shamed. It broke her heart, but what could she have done? What choice did she have but to help Jack after all he had done for her and Will? She couldn't have just watched him hang.

This feeling of hopelessness was twisting in her belly. She suddenly lost her appetite. She found herself using her sleeve to wipe her tears. "No," she squeaked, "I can't ever go back. Please don't send me away."

She had been sent away once before, to live with an uncle, when her mother died and her father was still away at sea. Her older cousins made her their new plaything. She was young and aimed to please, though she did not always fully consent to their games and roughhousing that left her injured and abandoned on more than one occasion. The bruises she could handle, but their laughter at her expense still scarred her.

Jack hushed her and handed her a mostly clean kerchief. Their feet pressed together. "No one is asking you to do anything you don't want to do," he said, shooting daggers at the others around the table, to which they returned, how-could-we-have-know looks. He patted her shoulder awkwardly. Her knee pressed against his. Contact. A connection. "You are always welcome on the Pearl," he said, almost a whisper in her ear.

He said it like a lovers promise. Like something sacred. His voice low and husky. Oh, that he would love her like he loved that ship. Her tears stopped and she turned away from him to blow her nose. "Thank you, Jack," she whispered back.

"I'd like to take some time to consider my options," said Elizabeth, clearing her throat. "There are some things I need to discuss with Tai Huang in the morning."

"Tai Huang?" said Esmeralda surprised, "did no one tell you? The Empress was one of the ships that went hunting after the battle. A number of ships gave chase to the EIC, hoping for easy pickings to those familiar with these waters. There are shallows and doldrums that can easily slow or stall a ship for days. If they catch them close by, they may return to Shipwreck to trade their wares, otherwise they may continue on their way."

Elizabeth looked at Esmeralda with her mouth hanging open incredulous. It was a mutiny. The men around the table shifted uneasily trying to think of something to say that wouldn't set off more tears.

Elizabeth laughed. It was unexpected, even for her, but once she started she couldn't stop and it was infectious. How absurd for her to be Pirate King! Captain of a Chinese ship, with a crew she could barely understand! She was stranded on an island full of the most notorious pirates, theives and cutthroats and she never felt more alive or at home. How could any of this be real? She cracked. And it spilled out of her as laughter.

All tension left the table. She laughed until she couldn't breathe. She was drowning in laughter. She laughed until she was doubled over holding her side. "Oh, ow," she gasped, "at least they didn't leave me stranded somewhere with a single shot."

Gibbs roared, "true that, ain't it Cap'n?" He slapped Jack on the back and snickered.

Jack sneered. Though he couldn't maintain his frown, it was such a delight to see her laugh. "Didn't you enjoy our time together on that deserted island, luv?" he asked with a smile. "I feel suddenly parched from the memory of you burning all the rum." Those around the table howled with laugher. "I need a drink. Something stiffer than tea or grog, haven't you any proper drink in this place, Esmeralda?"

Esmeralda waved to a barmaid and pointed to Jack. A bottle of rum quickly appeared along with several glasses. Drinks were poured. "A toast?" asked Jack.

"Take what you can," said Elizabeth, gaining her composure and holding her glass high.

"Give nothing back," they said in response.

* * *

 _ **I hope there was enough going on in this chapter to keep your interest. It's not exactly action packed. and apologies for no kissing which I hinted at in my comments last chapter, but it's too soon. believe me, I wrote in all kinds of smooching and other shenanigans, but took it out. there will be time enough for that later. - anyhoo let me know what you think. I am always very appreciative of your reviews.**_


	5. Chapter 5

_**What? Another chapter so soon? How unlike me. Thanks to guest, river, scarlet woman and sleepy lotus for the reviews. You are a source of constant encouragement. Thank you, thank you.**_

 _ **This chapter is mostly dream sequence and flashback. I'm planning on doing more flashbacks, so let me know what you think of this one.**_

 _ **There is a very high profile rape trial that is all over the media right now, so that's been taking up a lot of space on my Facebook feed and my head. This chapter was going to go much darker. Much much darker. Dark enough that I considered putting a trigger warning on this, but reminded myself this is T not M. I think I've cleaned it up sufficiently, but would appreciate any feedback if you think I'm crossing a line.**_

 _ **I forgot to add a disclaimer to the last chapter, but of course you know: Disney owns all the things. I'm just borrowing their characters and their world for a bit of fun.**_

* * *

Chp 5

She was having lunch with Will and her father in Port Royal over looking the ocean. Jack the monkey was dressed smartly, as a maid, serving them trays of elaborate cakes and calling her ma'am.

Suddenly her cousins appeared with their friends. A gang of teenaged boys. She was alone with them in a barn in the English countryside. She had wanted so badly for them to like her. They said they were going to show her the hay loft. She remembered worrying that she would get in trouble if she got her dress dirty.

The boys were talking about her mother. She was too young to understand, but knew by their tone that they were rude jokes and that it was cruel for the boys to say anything about her dead mother.

They called her fustilugs and draggle-tail. They'd never sail on a hen-frigate. She was the piper's wife they'd pay in fiddlers money. She didn't know if they were talking about her mother or if their taunts were aimed at her. They were crowding her. Pushing her down into the hay. They said it wouldn't hurt if she was like her mother. She didn't know what "it" was.

She realized that Cutler Beckett was in their midst. He was their ring leader, with his smirk and his powdered wig. Beckett had a red hot brand in his hand. He ordered Davy Jones to hold her down.

She felt his weight on her. She could smell Jones' rank breath. His tentacles dripped, cold and wet, onto her face. She struggled as he pinned her to the dirty barn floor, while Beckett pressed the brand into her arm.

She could hear the sizzle of flesh searing, the smell of burning. It didn't hurt, she thought it would. She didn't scream. She didn't flinch. They said it wouldn't hurt if she was like her mother. She wondered if it didn't hurt because she was a pirate. Was her mother a pirate? She felt strong. She laughed at Beckett for trying to break her.

Jones struck her hard across the face. Hard enough to make her see stars and her ears to ring. He grew tentacles like the kraken, choking her, lifting her skirts and pulling down her bodice. The boys eager, crowded around and asked when their turn would come.

The kraken's tentacles held her down, finding their way under her clothes. She struggled against warm wet tentacles, that held her firmly, caressing her most intimate places. Her body responding. Her breath so ragged, she sighed and moaned. The boys laughed, made rude gestures and called her a whore.

She tried to push him off of her. Turning, reaching, trying to find some leverage to get out from under its weight. She grasped a familiar handle and realized she had a dagger in her hand. She freed her arm and stabbed Jones in the heart. She felt smug as he got up clutching his chest. His blood on her blade.

Then she realized in horror that it wasn't Davy Jones, it was Will. He was asking why she would stab him when he had only ever asked her to keep safe his heart. He was so hurt, glaring at her with sad brown eyes. He skulked away disappearing behind the throng of boys. The boys were angry. They called her a filthy pirate. She tried to apologize, to beg Will's forgiveness. She tried to get up, to follow him, but the boys held her down.

She woke.

* * *

It was strange sleeping in her own bed in her own room. There was no rocking of waves. There was no sound of 30 men snoring. There wasn't the smell of sweat and flatulance and bilge water. There wasn't that slightly claustrophobic feeling of being hemmed in by the sail cloth she'd hung around her hammock for privacy. There wasn't the occasional cry or shout from other people's night terrors. There wasn't anyone to comfort her when she woke in a cold sweat.

She sat up. She rubbed her right arm about halfway between her elbow and her wrist. The burn had healed, but left a slightly raised lumpy scar in the shape of a "P" that still had that stretchy itchy feeling when she flexed. A souvenir from her trip to Singapore. She felt queasy remembering the ordeal.

She curled up on the bed and pulled the covers over her head. It was an ugly mark. She hid it under long sleeves or a cuff. Most people didn't even know she had it. It wasn't really something she wanted people to see.

* * *

Their trip across the Atlantic was longer than expected. They had hoped to reprovision in the Azores with Captain Villenueva's support, but the route was thick with navy vessels, so they were forced south. Supplies were heavily rationed, but by the time they reached the shores of Cape Verde they had been without supplies for three days. Surviving on a few fish they were able to catch, eaten raw with no fuel or limes with which to cook it, and grateful to have rainwater for drinking.

They docked in the busy Portuguese port well used by merchants, privateers and pirates. They were desperate for provisions. The crew was deployed to procure specific items and quantities.

They were not expecting red coats. She was with Gibbs and two other crew men haggling for supplies, when they were recognized. Too late to run, they were already compromised. They were being arrested. She couldn't risk the rest of the crew getting captured. She threw up a loud and indignant commotion during their arrest.

Barbosa would find a way to free Jack. He must for his own reasons, not hers. As long as Jack was not suffering in purgatory because of her selfish, self preserving decision. As long as he knew that she was sorry, even though she said she wasn't. These were her thoughts as they beat her into submission and clapped her in irons.

"What is she doing?" said Will, as Barbosa held him back from rushing to her aid.

"She's letting us get away," said Barbosa annoyed, "it's a gift, don't squander it."

"I'm not leaving her behind," said Will, panic in his voice.

"Well, go ahead, rush in and get yourself arrested as well. I'm sure she'll be pleased to share some quality time in a cell with you. Maybe they'll let you hang on the same rope," spat the older man. Barbosa signalled to the rest of the crew to keep a low profile and get back to the ship as quickly as possible.

"I'm not leaving her behind," said Will again.

"Neither am I," said Barbosa. It was against the code, but they were more guidelines than hard rules. Besides, Gibbs was one of his best crewmen and the girl had grown on him. A smart one that lass, he wouldn't regret saving her.

* * *

They were stripped of their weapons and effects. Wrists and ankles shackled, they were marched to a building on the far edge of town. Her ankles were bleeding from the chafing by the time they arrived. She held her wrists as still as possible so the cuffs wouldn't rub.

Elizabeth was separated from the others. She was taken to a room with an officer, who did not seem quite sober. He tied her to a post, loosened the laces of her shirt and pulled it down in the back to expose her left shoulder blade. He pressed a searing hot brand onto her skin.

She gasped at the smell and sound of burning flesh. But cauterized nerve endings meant it didn't hurt as much as she thought it would. Still, the area was hot and sore and hurt enough to make her wince when she moved or her shirt brushed against it.

She was being sent back to the join the others in their jail, when a another officer came by to berate the first officer for his error. She had just been branded a slave.

"What does it matter? She's getting sent away regardless," said Prisk.

"Well," said Edwards, "if she's marked a pirate she hangs. If she's marked a slave she's sold. Besides, it's orders and I'm not getting in trouble for your drunken incompetence."

They brought her back in the room and after some rummaging and arguing determined that they did not have a "P" shaped brand and would have to free hand it with the other irons. After some heated discussion and a number of false starts, they had Elizabeth kneeling on the floor with her right arm strapped tight to a work bench.

It took six marks for them to be satisfied with their "P". Six times they heated an iron and pressed it to her arm. Edwards kneeling behind her, clamped a hand over her mouth to muffle her cries, his other arm across her chest to keep her still. She wept the whole time as much out of fear as out of pain.

* * *

When she woke it was dark. She was disoriented. She couldn't remember how she got here. She was on a bed of straw on the floor. For a moment she thought she was back in her uncle's barn in England. Her whole body ached. Her arm throbbed in pain.

"You're awake," said a relieved voice. It was Gibbs. He was sitting against the wall next to her.

She was so happy to hear a familiar voice, she burst into tears. She crawled into Gibbs' lap and buried her head in his shoulder. She had always been a little afraid of him, ever since he chided her as a small child for being bad luck. But she was scared and tired and hurt, so she let him comfort her, while she tried to forget the day's trauma.

In the days that followed, the others made her as comfortable as possible. They were to be shipped back to the Caribbean for trial and sentencing. This was just an administrative outpost to assist with reprovisioning of navy, slave and EIC ships coming to and from Africa. They didn't have the jurisdiction to conduct trials. The next slave ship was scheduled to pass by in a about a weeks time.

She barely moved or spoke. Glassy eyes staring a hole into the wall. She felt so hopeless. She was going to hang. Unless she died of disease or starvation on the journey back to the Caribbean, chained naked to a board in the bottom of a slave ship.

She could see no way out of this. Sure that Barbosa had left the island by now. Those who fall behind are left behind. She was a little disappointed that Will did not come to her rescue. She half expected him to get himself arrested just to be with her. She was wrong. She shouldn't have taken him for granted.

They made her take water and encouraged her to eat, though she rarely took more than a few small bites. The pain made it difficult to sleep, but she would occasionally pass out from exhaustion. By the second day she had developed a high fever.

By the third day she was delirious. "How will we get off the island, Jack?" They would hear her ask over and over. Singing pirate songs under her breath and mumbling about riding sea turtles or burning all the rum.

On the fifth day they were released. It was not a dashing escape with swords drawn. It was quite the opposite. Their shackles removed, effects returned and sent on their way. Cotton was there to greet them on the street. He walked them down to dock where they boarded their ship.

It turns out that Barbosa had talked with some friends who were well connected with the Portuguese administration. A couple of small bribes granted him an audience with the appropriate officials, who he then agitated into questioning whether or not the British should have jurisdiction to make arrests while on their territory.

It was the Portuguese that ended up granting them protection. They had free run of the island, but once they hit the open seas they were on their own. The next British ship was not due to arrive in the area for two more days. They took advantage of the time, and with a fully provisioned ship, set sail.

The following days were a blur. Elizabeth spent most of it in her berth. Her fever climbed. She sweat through her blankets and complained about feeling cold. Though her shoulder seemed to be healing well, her arm was red, swollen, and hot. The scab would crack and ooze. Everything hurt. They gave her opium to dull the pain.

A small dark skinned woman appeared one day. She had Elizabeth lie flat on the deck. She shook a bone rattle and chanted over Elizabeth's body. She packed a wet poultice on Elizabeth's arm and bound it tight with a clean cloth. She boiled a handful of bark with leaves, berries and a piece of meat for broth. Elizabeth sipped that bitter concoction for the next three days. Her fever breaking and her arm healing into a lumpy scar.

* * *

She would forever be marked. The brand was something she had always seen as ugly. Shameful. Traumatic. But she survived this, like she had survived so many things. She earned this mark. It was something she could be proud of.

The sky was getting light. She got up from the bed and looked at her clothes. She planned to wear her Chinese armour to the memorial. Esmeralda had it laundered last night. It lay clean and folded on the dresser.

She picked it up and admired the embroidery. She smiled ruefully, noting that this was a souvenir from the Empress. She earned this too.

She should wait for a seamstress, but was feeling reckless. She tore the sleeves off of a chemise and cut the sleeves of her armour off at the elbows.

She put on her new outfit and admired her handiwork. She frowned at her brown hands and pale arms. She turned her arm out to admire her scar. "P" for pirate. She smiled.

* * *

 ** _Well, that came out a lot faster than past chapters. Maybe I'm getting better at this or maybe I just got lucky. If the muse stays with me, I'll see you soon. Until then please follow, favourite and review. Your reviews are definitely a source of encouragement and most appreciated._**


	6. Chapter 6

**_Well, I thought I had this chapter all planned out and it totally took a different direction. I managed to squeeze in lots of moments I was hoping to capture. Hopefully it hangs together ok and doesn't feel like a bunch of disjointed snippets._**

 ** _Thanks to River, Sleepy Lotus and Scarlet Woman for the reviews, your feedback is most welcome and appreciated._**

 ** _Disney owns all the things. I'm just playing around with their characters and their world._**

* * *

Chp 6

She was dressed in her Chinese armour. Esmeralda had sent someone up to hem the sleeves, tidying up her impromptu alterations. A borrowed black veil covered her hair and a fistful of handkerchiefs tucked into her belt. One in her hand now which she used to dry her eyes.

She had asked to say a few words as King, specifically to thank and honour those lost or injured in battle. She focused her thoughts on their families to keep the sounds of steel on steel and the painful panicked cries of the battlefield from filling her head.

She thought about her own family. Her poor father, she sighed. She didn't even know he had died. She wasn't there to comfort him, tell him that she loved him, apologize for being such a difficult daughter. He only ever wanted the best for her, though they didn't always see eye to eye on what that was.

She thought about Will. She felt sick remembering his last breaths, before he stabbed Davy Jones' heart and came back as the Captain of the Flying Dutchman. She missed him, but worse, she regretted how much time they wasted this past year. She closed her eyes. She wished they could have more time together to heal old wounds. She knew that he loved her despite it all, but there was that small shard of mistrust that would twist and tear if they were not careful around it.

Her throat was tight and she could feel her nose starting to run. She sat by the window crying and watched the square below. People coming and going about their days, as if it was just any other day, not the day she would say farewell to her husband.

* * *

"It would never have worked out between us," she thought to herself as she rowed ashore to meet Will. Those were her parting words to Jack Sparrow. Did she say them to convince him? Or convince herself?

He smiled and replied "keep telling yourself that, darling." Did he say that because he thought it might work out? Yet he refused her kiss goodbye. She huffed, annoyed as she jumped out and pulled the boat ashore. It would never work out with him, because he drove her crazy. Even now, he was filling her head with rubbish when her thoughts should be with her husband.

Will was waiting for her. He came and embraced her. They kissed and she nuzzled into his neck holding him tight, pushing Jack Sparrow out of her mind. She relaxed to the steady beat of Will's heart.

She jumped back holding him at arms length. "Your heart..?" She asked, pulling his shirt open and putting her hand to his chest. She could see there was no scar where the crew had cut out his heart.

He put his hand over hers. "Davy Jones cut out his own heart when the pain of losing Calypso was too much for him to bear. It's not a requirement of the job." She leaned into him, enchanted by his heartbeat. "When the Dutchman was pulled under, Calypso came to me. She gave me my orders. Put my heart back where it belongs."

Guilt twisted in her belly. "You always said your heart belonged to me," she said leaning her head to his chest. "I don't think I've done a very good job of tending to it of late." Things had been tense between them since they lost Jack to the kraken. Since she left Jack to die. Since he spied her kissing Jack Sparrow.

She turned her back to him. "I'm so sorry, Will," she said. His hands ran down her sides and rested on the clasp of her belt.

He paused, "tell me you love me." Her belt falling free. His hands continuing down her thighs as he pulled her tight against his hips.

"I love you, Will," she said, guiding his hands to the fastenings of her dress, "I always have." Past tense. No promises, but it wasn't a lie. What did it matter, when nothing would ever come of her infatuation with Jack Sparrow. This too would pass. And in ten years she and Will would have another day together.

He worked the buttons of her dress. One by one until her dress slipped free of her shoulders. He breathed in her scent. Kissed her neck. "I love you," he said, "I will always love you."

He said those words to soothe her. To calm her. Let her know that his love was unconditional. But it only amplified her guilt. She had lied when she told him that she kissed Jack simply as a ruse to save the rest of them from the kraken. There was nothing simple about that kiss.

She kissed Will now to try to recreate that moment, that feeling she had when she pressed Jack Sparrow up against the mast of the Black Pearl. She felt powerful when she saw the Captain's resolve melt away with her advances.

But she was also completely entranced by Sparrow. For a moment she lost herself so completely in his kiss she didn't know herself to be anything other than connected with his soul. That for a moment there was nothing else in the world but the two of them locked together as one. She shook it off long enough to betray him, but she was haunted by the desire to feel that again and experience oblivion in a mans arms.

* * *

A familiar feathered hat crossed the square. Barbosa. He was coming to the inn. She expected some of the other captains would soon arrive. She should go downstairs to greet them. She wasn't really up for it. She needed some time to compose herself.

She watched them come. Sri Sumbhajee with his wife and sons. His sons with their wives and children. She felt a twinge of jealousy seeing their clan. She would never have that.

Villenueva and Ching rounded the corner together. She thought she saw them holding hands. Whispering to each other and smiling. She heard some gossip about them retiring together. It was sweet to see. She felt fresh tears forming.

Then he came. Jack Sparrow. Her heart skipped a beat. She recognized his swagger before she saw his face. His tricorn. His coat. Beads swinging on the ends of his locks. She could feel herself smiling despite herself.

"Uncle Jack!" Cried a child's voice. It became a joyous little chorus. "Uncle Jack! Uncle Jack! Uncle Jack!" Children seemed to pour into the streets and mob Jack Sparrow. They hugged him from all sides. The little ones clung to his legs. His journey across the square came to a standstill.

He picked up one of the smallest ones. Dirty urchin with a mop of unruly dark hair. The sight was so sweet, Elizabeth thought her heart might burst. She could scarcely see them anymore through her tears, though she could hear them below.

"Are you all just here to see your Uncle Jack because I bribe you with candy?" he asked smiling and pulling a bag from his sash. The children organized themselves to receive their candy in an orderly fashion. They knew their Uncle Jack would insist on it or there would be no candy for anyone.

"Now, you all run along," he said watching the kids suck on their treats, "I need to do grownup things."

Most of the children nodded and wandered off dragging younger siblings behind them. One little boy still clung to Jack's leg. "No, don't go," he insisted.

He picked up the boy. "You're too little for us to have met before, isn't that right?" he said, fixing the boy's shirt that had come askew.

"Do you see that pretty lady in the window?" he said pointing to Elizabeth, "she might be very sad today and I have to go and make sure she's not all alone. I will introduce you to her another time, alright?" The boy hugged Jack's neck and rested his forehead on Jack's cheek.

Jack sighed. "Clara," he called to one of the older girls, "can you bring this one back to his mother?" She ran over and detached the boy from Jack.

"Will you come back and spend a day with us?" she asked a little shyly, "we'd like to take you sailing."

"I have to fix my ship, but I promise to make some time for you raggamuffins," he said ruffling her hair.

Elizabeth watched as the girl beamed at him and skipped away, taking the boy with her. She and Will had talked about having children. She never had siblings, so she dreamed of having a large family. That would never happen now, she thought, but she touched her belly and wondered, hopeful and terrified, if she might have someone to remember Will by.

* * *

The lobby of the inn was full. Full of people Jack mostly didn't like, didn't trust, owed money or worse of all, owed favours. Sometimes all four. This city was just too small. It bothered him that he couldn't see the horizon.

He'd be happier when the Pearl was seaworthy again. At least he'd feel a little less trapped. At least if the Pearl was fit to sail he could take himself and his crew away from this place when it started to grate on his nerves.

"Jack!" It was Barbosa. Someone Jack didn't like or trust. He was with Sri, Ching and Villanueva. Also people he didn't like or trust to varying degrees. He might owe Villanueva money. He was pretty sure he owed Sri a favour, though the old man was getting less petty and more forgetful in his old age.

"Hector," he replied walking over. He hated small talk. He hated funerals, or at least the ceremony, he quite enjoyed the drinking that was likely to take place later. He took the mug that Barbosa offered him.

"Bribing the children with penny candy?" asked Barbosa with a chuckle. They had all watched the commotion he caused in the square. "You're a pied piper."

Jack shrugged, "small price for what I get in return." He grew up in this town and knew how much it meant to get a little attention from men when they came ashore. Fathers were so often away or absent or unknown. A kind word and a little time was all that was needed to win over the children... and their mothers.

Winning over mothers meant a free meal or company for an evening when money was tight, which was generally Jack's state when he was visiting Shipwreck City. He had a love hate relationship with this place and generally avoided it if there were other options.

Jack downed the drink Barbosa had poured him. He clapped him on the back in thanks. "I'm going to check on Lizzie," he said excusing himself.

* * *

Her door was a jar. He knocked before looking in. She was sitting by the window veiled in black. She turned and smiled a small half smile when she saw him.

"Jack," she sighed, getting up from her seat to greet him. But she stopped herself remembering the last time he rejected her kiss. She looked at the floor. She didn't know what to do with her hands, so she occupied them by wringing a tear soaked handkerchief.

"How are you doing?" he asked. She looked frail. Something about that veil and the sad look in her eyes that made her look much older than her 22 years, but no less beautiful in his eyes.

"I'm fine, I suppose," she shook her head, "I don't know." She offered him the chair and sat herself on the edge of the bed. "Just thinking too much," she sighed, "about... regrets."

"Don't dwell on regrets, luv, it'll eat you up and you'll be no farther ahead," he said sitting. She nodded, but didn't meet his eyes. "I'm sorry things happened the way they did. It wasn't my plan. I'd hoped things would have turned out differently."

She shook her head, "I don't blame you for how things turned out. Everything happens for a reason." The handkerchief in her hands was getting so twisted up, it might not survive the conversation. It was saved by the need for Elizabeth to dry her eyes again.

"Sorry," she apologized. Was she sorry for a display of grief or was she sorry for desiring the man sitting inches away from her on this day when she should be thinking of Will? There was a long awkward silence while Elizabeth composed herself.

Sorry. He frowned. He liked it better when she was not sorry. He wanted to comfort her, but he couldn't think of anything to say that might make her feel better. She had just lost every familiar thing in her life. He tried to fill the space with small talk.

"Are long sleeves no longer in fashion?" he asked, looking at the torn cloth on her dressing table. She looked a little shocked at his question and he immediately felt stupid for asking it.

"No," she rubbed her arm. A reflex. She shook her head. "No," she repeated with a nervous laugh, feeling vulnerable after hiding something for so long. "I thought it was time, at least while I'm here, while I'm king, to stop being ashamed of this mark." She turned out her arm to reveal her scar.

He inhaled a hiss and grimaced. His brand was white against his skin, it really only showed against his tan. Hers was ragged and puckered and red, on her perfect slender white arm. It was looked ugly and painful. It made him feel angry and protective to see that someone did this to her. "They really butchered this, didn't they," he didn't mean for that to be out loud.

"It didn't hurt as much as I thought it would," she said forcing the tremble from her voice. She tightened her grip on the handkerchief to keep her hands from shaking. "I was more scared than anything..." Of being hung. Of failing in my mission to find you and bring you back. To bring you back to me. She swallowed hard.

He reached across the small gap that separated them and held her arm gently, caressing the scar with his thumb. A pirate brand. She closed her eyes. Imagining those rough hands caressing more than just the scar on her arm.

"When did you get this?!" his whispered question, wondering how she had hid this for so long. Surely he'd seen her with her shirtsleeves rolled up. Maybe not. They really hadn't spent much time together since their trip to find the deadman's chest.

"Awhile ago," she replied. "Maybe almost a year now? In Africa." She felt sick with the memory of the ordeal.

"You know that Cutler Beckett arrested Will and I on our wedding day, for helping you escape that hanging," she continued, his thumb tracing her scar, each gentle stroke erasing the violence that created it. "I was arrested again for piracy, on our way to rescue you from the locker. I'm not sure why they didn't brand me in Jamaica, but that doesn't much matter now, does it? I'm marked."

If she hadn't helped him escape, she would never have been charged with piracy. If she wasn't arrested on her sodding wedding day, she and the whelp would be bloody happily married. Living comfortably on some large estate, probably with growing brood of mini-whelps. He felt guilty and annoyed. He hadn't asked for her help, he shouldn't have to feel guilty about the consequences. Selfish. "I didn't know," he started, "I'm sorry if you suffered."

She cut him off, "don't be. It was my penance." She stood and stepped past him to the window, suddenly in need of fresh air. She watched as the square slowly filled with people. Many dressed in black. It would be time to leave soon. She turned to face him. "I just want to know where I stand with you. Are we square?"

Penance? For what? Feeding him to the kraken? Poor lass. Barbosa was right saying that was no fault of hers. She was looking at him with those sad brown eyes. He liked her, trusted her enough to vote her king, and now it seemed confirmed he didn't owe her money nor favours. She was very quickly becoming his favourite person. "Aye," said Jack, "we're square."

* * *

 ** _Woot woot! Another chapter done!_**

 ** _Please follow, favourite and review. I'm going to see if my original plan for this chapter with resurrect it self in the next chapter._**


	7. Chapter 7

_**Thanks again to my stalwart reviewers River, Sleepy Lotus and Scarlet Woman. Reviews are my crack. I love them. Please feed my addiction.**_

 _ **I don't own the things, Disney does. Except for song lyrics featured in this chapter which I borrowed from the Rankin family.**_

* * *

Chp 7

She was sitting at the far end of the dock with her feet in the water and bottle by her side. It had been a long and exhausting day. It was late, but the bars were still packed with mourners and revellers alike. She just needed some space. Clear her head. Catch her breath. It was quiet here and the stars were out.

Three ships full of mourners had sailed out to the location of the maelstrom. Speeches were made. Offerings were dropped into the sea. Elizabeth said a few words of what she felt was a rather underprepared though heartfelt speech. It was well received none the less.

She wanted people to know that she took responsibility for the call to arms. That the men fought bravely. That their loss was not in vain, but a sacrifice to secure the freedom and continued livelihood of pirates everywhere. That she grieved for those lost as if they were family, because she truly felt that she was one of them. She wasn't sure if she conveyed everything she wanted to.

Whatever. She was drunk. Alone on a quiet dock on a warm night. She should probably be home, but where was home anyway? Port Royal? The Black Pearl? The Empress? The inn? She scoffed, losing her train of thought again.

She took a swig from the bottle. She felt lonely and sad. But it was the kind of lonely that wanted to wrap itself up in a cocoon rather than look for company. She could hear faint strains of music coming from the taverns. The sound was only clear enough to know it was music, but not clear enough to make out the tune. She decided to make her own music and hummed a slow sweet song.

 _"Fare thee well, love_  
 _Fare thee well, love_  
 _Far away, you must go._  
 _Take your heart, love_  
 _Take your heart, love_  
 _Will we never meet again no more?"_

She sang softly, drawing out each phrase. Perhaps it was the stillness of the water or the way the rim of the cove curved protectively around them. Perhaps she was more drunk than she realized, but her voice seemed to echo back to her in harmony. She took another swig from her bottle.

She would miss Will. She would, really. She would miss the way he followed her around. Sweet Will. He loved her, of that she had no doubt. He doted on her. Put her on a pedestal. He never asked anything of her except to love him back. Simple enough. Sweet simple love. Another swig from the bottle.

 _"So I'll drink today, love,_  
 _I'll sing to you, love_  
 _in pirate's glory, my time I'll bide_  
 _No home or ties, love,_  
 _A restless sailor, if I can't have you by my side."_

"You have a nice set of pipes," said a low voice behind her, "you really should sing more often."

Startled, she spun around so fast she almost toppled off the dock. Oh. Why was the dock swaying? "Jack?" she sighed, recognizing his silhouette, she flopped down on the decking, the bare feet kicking up a splash of water. Heart pounding in her ears. She lay back and looked up at him, her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but the light was behind him, so she couldn't make out his expression.

"I always enjoyed your singing, luv," he moved her boots and sat next to her. Her pants were rolled up to her knees. He admired her calves, wet skin catching the dim light of far away torches.

"I didn't know anyone was listening," she said, her hands covering her face. Embarrassed. Or something. She was feeling a little queasy. Maybe if the dock would stop swaying.

"Do you only sing when you're drunk?" he asked, helping himself to a swig from her bottle. "You aren't planning on burning all the rum again, are you?"

She flailed at him with her left arm, "don't tease," she said annoyed, but she couldn't help smiling. He chuckled putting up a hand in defence, amused as she landed a couple of not so gentle blows.

He caught her hand in his. Their fingers interlaced in an awkward tangle. He had been looking for her. She was with a group of them in the tavern. Then she wasn't. It took him awhile to find her. If she hadn't started singing, he probably wouldn't have found her at all. But he followed her voice like a sirens call.

He was a little concerned to find her drunk and alone by the docks. "You are a little tipsy, aren't you? You know it's not really safe for a pretty girl like you to be alone in the dark," he said, his tone serious, "this city's full of pirate rogues and ne'er-do-wells."

In a flash, he found himself pinned to the deck. She straddled his chest and pressed a dagger to his throat. "I'm not that drunk, Captain Sparrow," she hissed, "or helpless."

A year of living with pirates meant she had lots of experience dealing with the male gaze. Not that she hadn't sparred with interested men before leaving Port Royal, but that tended to be more verbal rather than physical. The rules of engagement were a little different. A similar dance with a few new steps. Was it safer to ignore them, smile, talk them down, or draw her dagger?

She leaned over him, their faces almost touching, her thighs wrapped his rib cage, her knees pinning his arms. Both of them becoming keenly aware of their intimate position. "You wouldn't hurt me, would you, Jack?" her voice sweet and innocent, but the cold blade pressing just a little harder against his neck. She felt sick. Queasy from the drink and memories of fending off undesired advances.

"No, never," he squeaked, putting up his hands in surrender. A mix of pride, amusement and concern swelled in his chest. He wonder what happened to her. You don't gain reflexes like this nor the ability to deliver a threat with unshaking hands without practice or reason to practice. She wasn't such an innocent little bird, was she?

She rolled off of him. He was left feeling disappointed, having enjoyed their momentary closeness, though he was nervous about the blade at his neck, especially with her in a state of drunken grief. Blades can slip.

She was sitting again, with her feet in the water, swaying a little as she hummed her song. He pulled off his boots and dangled his feet in the water next to her. He could feel little fish nibbling at his callouses.

"What's the song?" he asked sitting close enough for their shoulders to brush when she swayed towards him. "Not another pirate song?"

She stopped humming and looked at the water. Glowing points of torchlight from the city reflected in its smooth surface. She swung her legs to make ripples. She shook her head, "just a song to say farewell."

"Did you know," she sighed, taking a pull from the bottle, "there are no good songs to mourn someone who's dead but not so dead that you won't see them again in this life."

"I suppose yours is a unique situation," Jack conceded, accepting the bottle she passed to him.

That didn't make her feel any better. Her swaying foot bumped his under water. A reminder of last night. He tapped her back. They were square. She grabbed the bottle from him, took a swig and sang another verse.

 _"Far away, love_  
 _Far away, love._  
 _Across the seas and oceans wide_  
 _Take my heart, love_  
 _Take my heart, love_  
 _No one knows the tears I've cried."_

Her head hurt. So did her heart. She took a sip from the bottle. She should stop drinking. "This song," she frowned, "talks about 'taking your heart' in the first verse. But the second verse talks about 'taking my heart'. It doesn't seem fair for one person to have all the hearts. Does it?" She swayed into him, bumping his shoulder.

He considered her query while fighting the urge to put his arm around her and pull her close. Perhaps he would have tried something if she hadn't pulled a knife on him earlier. "Maybe it's a duet and they were exchanging hearts," he offered.

"Maybe..." she said, sitting up but she wasn't convinced. Her feet splashed in the water.

It did raise a question that was circulating about the whereabouts of the deadman's chest. Or more specifically the heart of the dead man contained therein. He cleared his throat unsure if this was a good time to ask. He picked up the bottle for another drop of liquid courage. "Did Will give you his heart?" he asked, trying to sound nonchalant.

She sat quietly for a long time, staring out at the water. Will always said his heart belonged to her. Always. He didn't say it this time. He said he would love her always. His heart was his own to keep now, literally and figuratively. She thought she had run out of tears, but she could feel them welling up. "No," she said, before the first sob could close her throat.

Ah. Well that was news, thought Jack, "sorry." He felt like a jerk for asking and making her cry. He handed her a handkerchief. Peace offering.

She took it and dried her eyes, "it's not your fault."

"I didn't have to bring it up," he said.

She shrugged, "I know people have been talking. I'm glad it was you that asked and not someone else." She blew her nose.

He lay back and looked at the stars. He tucked his hands behind his head and looked at her. Long sun bleached hair catching the faint glow of torch light. He didn't remember her rowing back with a chest. Perhaps she buried it on that island or perhaps the whelp took it with him. Perhaps it was for the best that she didn't have the burden of keeping the Dutchman's heart safe.

There was another question. A more personal question. A question that required more rum before asking and probably a good quantity of rum before answering. He sat up and took a long pull from the bottle, before passing it to her. She rubbed her eye and took a swig. It stopped burning her throat awhile ago, now it just felt warm and tingly.

Maybe he shouldn't ask, but curiosity always got the better of him. She would understand that at least. They were like two peas in a pod when it came to curiosity. "Did you give him your heart?" He held his breath a little waiting for her response.

She looked at him. He wouldn't have been considered handsome by most of her society friends in Port Royal, what with his braided beard and wild hair, gold teeth and tattoos, shabby clothes and questionable hygiene. What was it about him that she found so fascinating? "No," she said, "my heart..."

She almost said that her heart was not hers to give. It had been stolen... by a pirate. A dirty pirate that didn't realize what treasure he possessed. She knew Will suspected as much and perhaps he was right. How could she admit it to someone that was so oblivious? Even now she could only feel pain where her heart should be. So instead she turned away and said, "my heart was broken. It's not much use to anyone right now."

He heard the hitch in her voice, she was going to cry again. He bumped her foot with his. A momentary distraction. A reminder that she wasn't alone in this world. She bumped him back. Bare feet under water. His skin was warm. She liked how he felt.

"Well then," he said, lying back, "no one has all the hearts. You each have your own heart to keep safe. Hearts will mend, darling, they will. Just give it time."

That was entirely too sensible. It didn't make any sense to her. Her head was spinning.

She lay back next to him. He didn't say anything for so long she wondered if he might have nodded off. She felt like curling up against him, but thought better of it. It just didn't seem proper so soon after losing Will. The desire to touch him grew to distraction. "I should probably go," she said, sitting up. Though she didn't really want to leave.

He caught her arm just above the elbow. "Stay, a bit," he said, sitting up next to her, their shoulders touching, "watch the moonrise with me." He pointed to the rim of the cove to their right. Something yellow was just cresting the edge of the cove. "Should be a half moon tonight." He took a swig and passed her the bottle.

She took the bottle but didn't drink. She blew across its mouth, making a low whistle, like a fog horn. He bumped her foot with his. She smiled and sang the last verse of her song.

 _"Oh come back, love_  
 _Oh come back, love_  
 _The sun and moon_  
 _refuse to shine._  
 _Since you've gone, love_  
 _Gone away love_  
 _this lonely girl has had no peace of mind"_

"It's a lie," he said, "the moon shines perfectly fine." He pointed to the half moon clearing the rim of the cove and continuing across the sky. He bumped her foot. She smiled and hooked her foot around his calf.

 _"So I'll drink today, love,_  
 _I'll sing to you, love_  
 _in pirate's glory, my time I'll bide_  
 _No home or ties, love,_  
 _A restless sailor, if I can't have you by my side."_

He did drink to that. He was feeling good. He was feeling happy drunk, which was much better than depressed drunk. He could see her better with the moon out. His arm found its way around her waist, his hand on her hip drawing her close. She was looking at him with those twinkling brown eyes. He could feel her breath on his face. Their foreheads touching. His heart was racing.

 _"Fare thee well love..."_ Her song a whisper. She imagined the taste of his lips before they even touched hers. Her body was so filled with drunken longing for him.

 _"Fare thee well..."_ a voice echoed.

Jack sat up with a start letting go of her, "did you hear that?"

"What?" she asked, both disappointed and relieved that the moment was lost.

He was standing. Looking across the water. "That echo that wasn't really an echo, did you hear it?"

"You hear it too?" she said with surprise. "I've been hearing it all night. I thought maybe it was the cove or just in my head from too much drink."

"Sing again, luv" he coaxed, his eyes narrowed.

She obliged, a little annoyed at his sudden change in demeanour, _"Fare thee well love..."_

 _"Fare thee well..."_ the voices echoed.

Jack crouched behind Elizabeth and pointed over her shoulder so she could follow his line of sight. "There," he said, "mermaids."

"Fearsome, terrible creatures," Jack continued, "they'll tear a man in two. Pull him down to the bottom of the sea and eat him alive."

She strained to see. It just looked like a ripple in the water. She could hear them singing clearly now, like a cacophony inside her head. It was hypnotic.

 _"Fare thee well..."  
_ _"Fare well..."  
_ _"Farewell sister..."  
_ _"Fare thee well sisters..."  
_ _"Sssssssistersssss..."_

She pointed, "ah yes, I see them now." A group of heads disappearing under water, she could see their tails flipping up.

"Ah," he said, a little panicked. He thought to run away, but seemed affixed to his position hiding behind Elizabeth, his hands gripping her shoulders. "They're coming," he whispered, trying to keep the dread out of his voice.

"No," said Elizabeth with certainty. "They're leaving," she shook off the trance. She could feel Jack's grip relaxing. "Did you hear them? Did you hear them call me sister?" she whispered.

Jack shook his head and stood up. "Come on," he said, offering a hand to help her up, "let's get out of here."

Elizabeth took his hand and stood, still distracted by the mermaid sighting. "Do you often see mermaids here at Shipwreck cove?" she asked.

"No one's seen a mermaid here in ages. You can ask Esmeralda about it. Come," he said, still a little shaken by the mermaids trance. Eager to leave, he started down dock with his boots in his hand.

She rolled down her pant legs and grabbed her boots. She followed him down the long stretch of the docks. Her pace slowed, a sense of dread had settled in her stomach, or perhaps it was too much drink. Her chest felt tight. She paused to catch her breath and held her belly to ease the pain. "Are you staying on the Pearl while you're here?" she asked.

He turned around, she had fallen behind. She didn't look well. "Most nights," was his reply before he could think of what that meant. He didn't want to explain to her where he was most other nights, though he was thinking that Ruthy Haines owed him most of a night that he'd already paid for. That is something Elizabeth wouldn't understand. She would judge him poorly.

"Would it be alright for me to spend the night?" she asked, fighting a feeling of panic. "With you? I mean on the Pearl. I mean I don't want to sleep alone." This was coming out all wrong.

"Lizzie..?" his question a whisper. He was standing at her side. She was blushing so hard she was sure he could see it even in this dark. She felt sick.

"I mean, I have nightmares and it was strange to wake alone in an unfamiliar place..." Words were spilling out of her mouth faster than she could think of what she was saying. Wiping away tears with the back of her hand. "I've gotten so used to all the snoring and the swaying of the ship. It was too quiet and still. I just don't want to be alone. Not tonight. I just want to know that I'm not all alone."

Shhhhhh, he hushed. "You are not alone. You are always welcome aboard the Pearl. I said as much last night and meant every word of it."

"I'm going to be sick," she said pushing him out of the way and dropping to her knees, she threw up most of a bottle of rum and her supper into the harbour. He sat next to her and held her hair out of the spray.

"Rum is the work of the devil," she said when she was done. She felt marginally better, her body having expelled a belly full of toxins. She leaned against a pier feeling like she needed something to get the sour taste of bile out of her mouth.

"Then I'll see you in hell, darling," he said smiling, knowing that she had developed a taste for it.

She punched him in the arm. "Ow," he said feigning injury, "I've been nothing but good to you all night and all you've done is abuse me."

"Not true," she said, "you made me cry. Jerk. And I sang for you." She spat out the last of the bile in her mouth and was beginning to feel more human, which was good, and more sober, which was debatable as to whether that was good or not.

Jerk? Well, he probably deserved that. Interesting that she chose to punch him rather than slap him like most women. "I thought the song was for your husband," he said.

He wondered if she would stay faithful to Will Turner. Ten years was a long time, but if Elizabeth Swann - er, Turner was anything, it was stubborn. If anyone could do it, it would be her. He didn't really understand faithfulness. It wasn't something he grew up with.

"He's not here," she said. You are, she thought, imagining the feel of his skin under his shirt. She shook her head. She was too sober to be thinking like this.

"No, he's not," said Jack quietly in her ear. He was standing a little too close. She gave into weakness. She leaned into his shoulder and let him put his arms around her. She slid her arms under his coat and around his waist.

She hated him. She hated this hollow feeling, like a piece of her was missing. She hated being that poor girl who was being emotional. She hated that she was crying again. She hated bring vulnerable. She hated how safe it felt to be in Jack's arms. She was tired. Her stomach growled.

"Hungry?" he asked. "Come on. The Pearl's just over there. I had Cotton restock the pantry today. We'll find something better than ships rations to keep you from wasting away."

* * *

 _ **A whole chapter of just Jack and Lizzie! I hit most of the moments I was aiming for, though a few of them didn't come out the way I thought they would and this didn't end the way I thought it woul** **d.** **Well, what did you think? Did I drag it out too long?** **Ever been on a date that you didn't want to end, but didn't want to broach of issue of sleeping arrangements? yeah... that was the feeling I was going for. there will be more. I have a prett** **y good idea of what's going to happen with sleeping arrangements, but if you have opinions, let me know.**_

 _ **Please follow, favourite and review.**_


	8. Chapter 8

**_This chapter was not planned. It grew out of last chapter, where I decided to let my characters loose and they took me in a direction that was a little unexpected. So this chapter was painful to write with no plan and getting to a point where I'm setting the stage for future chapters. Anyway. Let me know what you think._**

 ** _Thanks as always to my reviewers river, sleepy lotus, scarlet woman, adhesive princess and guest._**

 ** _Btw. The first 2.5 sentences are dedicated to sleepy lotus. Read them slowly and with feeling ;)_**

 ** _Disney owns the things. I'm just borrowing._**

* * *

Chp 8

She was in such a sorry state. It broke Jack's heart to see her like this. He ran his hand gently down her side, caressing her hull. Two of her yardarms were cracked, one of them broken clean through. Torn sail flapping like a wounded bird. Her railings smashed on one side. Deck boards would need replacing. Glass in her portholes and windows shattered.

Elizabeth watched Jack's heart grow heavy as they approached the Pearl. He loved this ship like ... Like what? A lover? A child? Whatever it was, the Pearl was never far from his thoughts. She wondered if he would ever think of her so fondly.

He steadied Elizabeth on her way up the steep incline of the gang plank. She was shamed to need his help, but she was still quite tipsy and the world was still swaying underfoot. She was shamed to be so drunk that the world was still spinning. Once she made it on deck she took a moment to regain her footing.

Jack frowned as he, once again, assessed the state of the Pearl. He ran his fingers along splintered railings and patted the mast gently on his way to investigate a curious sound that seemed to be coming from his cabin.

The captain's cabin was not exactly a private space, it was more of an office or meeting room. Sometimes the men would get together there to drink or eat or play cards, as it was considerably brighter and airier than any of the rooms below deck.

The bed chamber attached was more private than the cabin, but even so, it would be used as an infirmary or even extra sleeping quarters as living space on board the Pearl was limited. Jack kept any personal things of worth on his person or hidden and locked up tight. Tonight it seemed that someone decided to take advantage of the fact that he had not yet come in for the night.

The sound of rhythmic thumping, heavy breathing and a woman's cries furthered Captain Sparrow's suspicions that someone on the crew bought some company for the night. Beds are more conducive to certain activities than hammocks, walls or dirty floors, and Jack's was the only bed on the ship.

"Oy! Who's in there?" bellowed Jack, squinting in the shattered window. In the dim light of the moon he could make out someone's buttocks and someone else's legs in the air.

"Ahh Captain," said an embarrassed voice from inside, barely slowing his rhythm. "Give us a few minutes, all most done here."

"Marty?" he asked recognizing his voice and stature. "Who's the lady?" asked Jack, he was in a good mood and rather amused by all of this. If he was in a bad mood he would have walked in, kicked them out and thrown their clothes out after them.

"I think her name's Clarice," grunted the dwarf, as her cries became more pleading. "She's French, er... She doesn't speak much English in any case."

Jack didn't remember a French Clarice in his comings and goings. "Fine," he said, "Clear out when you're done. And clean up after yourselves."

Elizabeth was stifling giggles. She must still be drunk. She was not so innocent as to be horrified and embarrassed by other people having sex, but she was innocent enough to find it hilarious. She found it especially hilarious how irreverent the crew was in their use of the Captains chambers and how annoyed Jack was.

"You seem to be in a good mood," said Jack as they made their way below deck. They didn't bother with a lamp. They both knew the way with their eyes closed. "It's not like someone's commandeered your bed for the night," he added, a little irritated by the situation.

The hallway was lit with a glow from the mess. Pintel, Ragetti and Cotton were sitting around a table, drinking and playing cards. "Awwwk, shiver me timbers," squawked Cotton's parrot, announcing Jack and Elizabeth's arrival. Jack picked up a lantern and went straight for the pantry, while Elizabeth stayed with the crew.

"Ah, it's King and Captain," said Pintel, "'ow are ye holding up, Poppet?" he asked gently, mixing the formal with the familiar.

"Well enough, given the circumstances stances," she said, taking a seat next to Cotton. He patted her shoulder and gave her smile. She squeezed his hand in return. "It seems there's no need to call me king or captain anymore. The alliance among the brethren has dissolved and the Empress has mutinied."

"Ah yeah, sorry," said Ragetti shyly, looking everywhere but at her with his one eye, "we heard 'bout the mutiny." He always felt a bit sheepish around Elizabeth, but more so tonight with her being sad and all. "You did a good speech today though Miss E... I mean Mrs. T..."

She smiled at him and he hoped that she didn't see him blushing. "You can call me Miss E or Elizabeth or Poppet, I don't mind. We're friends, are we not? Besides, I'm not really Mrs. Turner anymore either, am I? Except perhaps in name, now that Will's gone." She sighed and blinked back tears, swiping at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"He'll be back, Poppet," said Pintel, patting her other hand that rested on the table. She nodded and swallowed the lump in her throat. Pintel's gesture earned him a peck from Cotton's parrot.

The parrot, demanding Elizabeth 's attention, climbed onto her arm. She was glad for the distraction and scratched him in that spot behind his ear, making him fluff, close his eyes and rub his head against her hand. She grabbed a peanut from a sack on the table. Cracking it with one hand, she ate one of the nuts and fed the other to the bird.

Cotton traced the scar on her arm and looked at her questioningly. It was something he knew she kept hidden. Cotton was one that nursed her when she was sick with fever from the ordeal. Will would come see her regularly, but they kept him busy when she was delirious, as she seemed only to ask for Jack Sparrow in those moments.

She smiled a half smile. "It's who I am. There's no need to hide that while I'm here."

Cotton returned her smile.

* * *

Jack was stoking up a fire in the hearth and putting on a kettle of water. He was thinking Elizabeth could probably use some tea, which he found in abundant supply. Good black Indian tea. Boiled potatoes, salt pork, onions, and fresh eggs. Excellent. He had a plan.

"Oh," she said sticking her head in the smokey room. "I wasn't expecting a meal." He had set up a board for a table and was gathering things to prep.

"Thought you could use a cup of tea," he said. "Since I had the hearth going and I saw boiled potatoes, I had a sudden hankering for some hash."

One thing she liked about pirates was their ability to take care of themselves. Not only did they sail, trade, and fight, they cooked, cleaned, and mended their own clothes. Jack Sparrow offering to cook her a meal in the middle of the night made her feel a little weak in the knees.

His gesture made her a little uncomfortable. They were square. She didn't want to owe him. Certainly not they way women owed men who did them favours. There were expectations. The kind of expectations she didn't want to think about right now. "Can I help?" she asked leaning her hip against his table.

"No need," he said, his arm brushing against her as he reached for a bowl, "I've also a plan to make you some really bad eggs." He added with a wink.

She laughed, recalling the song she'd taught him so long ago. He loved the sound of her laugh. He juggled some potatoes just to hear it again. She obliged and added a smile that made the whole room seem brighter.

"I shouldn't laugh," she said sombrely, looking at the floor, "it's not proper. Not when I should be mourning." She had already put away Esmeralda's veil earlier this evening for fear of losing it. Here she was carrying on. She felt guilty for not being a better widow.

He felt badly for her, "no one'll begrudge you a laugh and a smile, lass. Not here."

Jack had taken off his coat and was working with his shirtsleeves rolled up. She could see his tattoos. His scars. His brand. He was stoking the fire. Yo ho, yo ho, he hummed their song as he worked, it's a pirate's life for me.

She wondered how differently things might go if she was stranded on that island with him now. Alone. For days. Her father, no longer alive, would not have the navy searching for her. Her husband away for years and she with no chance of surviving long enough to see him again. Wearing nothing but her chemise. Her newly acquired taste for rum. The recent loss of her innocence. She leaned against the wall, still feeling the effects of the bottle she had nursed earlier in the evening. It was getting uncomfortably warm in here. Warmer still every time she looked at Jack.

"Please," she said, shaking off her reverie, "let me help. Just put me to work, it'll be no different than when I'm helping Cotton with the meals. I'll be your sous chef." Convincing herself that it was possible for her and Jack to be friends.

He was looked at her, thinking about how he wanted to do her. Do something for her. He really just wanted to do something for her. She wasn't ready to accept his gift. She'd rather think of him as a toothless old mute. Just another day in the kitchen. "Fine," he said, acquiescing. "Dice me some onions," sending her to the pantry.

She had to squeeze by him to avoid burning herself on the hearth. Their bodies touching as she passed. It's not like she hadn't done the same or similar a million times before, sailing on his ship, but this time felt different. It made her blush, but worse, she noticed that he noticed that she blushed.

"Of course you'd give me the onions," she sighed, feigning hardship, "as if I haven't cried enough today." She took her time bending over to gather onions from their sack. Unlike most occasions when she felt a man ogling her, this time, with this man, she didn't mind. Maybe she was too drunk to care.

She walked back to the table. Their hands touched reaching for the cooks knife at the same time. "My husband just died, I get the good knife," she said, a hoarse whisper in his ear. His hand releasing the knife, fingertips sliding up her arm as he stepped back conceding the kitchen knife to her, a half smile on his lips. Well played, he thought.

She dispatched the onions with nary a tear, while Jack cut up rashers of salt pork with his pocket knife. He raked up some hot coals and added another piece of wood. When the fire was as he wanted it, he set the spider skillet over the flame.

First in was the meat, then the onions, once the fat started to render. "You want to keep an eye on this skillet or cut up these potatoes?" He asked.

She opted for watching the skillet, so she could watch him labour in the warm glow of the hearth. He liked her eyes on him. She wasn't pretending to be aloof, as she often did.

Perhaps she gave up the idea of what was appropriate for her station. He glanced at the pirate brand on her arm, still not used to seeing it. She was rubbing her hand where the grease had splattered. He felt the urge to take her hand and kiss away the hurt.

"Are those onions ready?" he asked. She nodded, picking up the heavy cast iron skillet with a scrap of leather they used as a pot holder. He scraped the meat and onions in with his potatoes and mashed them together with some salt, pepper and herbs. He formed patties from his potato mixture, while she watched. He melted a glob of suet in the pan and put the first batch in to fry, while she formed the next batch of patties.

Using him as a shield against the splatter of grease and heat from the hearth, she was up on her toes to look over his shoulder at his cooking. She rested her arm on his back for balance, her chin on his shoulder. Fried potatoes in the middle of the night when drunk and hungry were just what she needed. They smelled really good. She sighed and relaxed, leaning into him.

He felt the full length of her body pressed against him. He liked it. He liked it enough for his pants to feel tight. "Is this how you watch Cotton do the cooking?" he teased. "If I knew, I'd cook more often."

She stepped back as if she'd been burned, retreating to the other side of the table. She blushed, realizing how forward she was being. "Rum is the devil's drink," her mumbled excuse.

"Rum doesn't make you do anything you don't want to do," he said, checking to make sure his hash browns weren't sticking. "It will only free you of you inhibitions to do what you really want to do, but are too afraid to try. Real freedom is living without fear. What are you afraid of, Lizzie?"

She was quiet for so long, he turned to see if she had disappeared, but she was standing there looking at her hands. "A woman doesn't have much other than her reputation," she said quietly. "If I lose that, what will I have left?"

"Lizzie," he said, turning back to his hash, "no one cares about your reputation. You have a lot more to offer the world than just your faithfulness to Will."

"I care about my reputation!" She cried. "Do you know what it's like to be a woman with a bad reputation? Do you know what men are like when they think they can take advantage?"

"Most men don't respect women because they are faithful," he said. "They might defend a woman who is faithful to them. Perhaps they would respect a woman's faithfulness to her husband, but only with the hope she might transfer that faithfulness to him."

"Men will generally respect another mans property," he said adding salt, "including his women, for fear of retribution. Seeing as your dear husband is not here to defend you from these bad eggs, what's the use in maintaining your reputation? Besides, lass you are living with pirates now. Pirates, who have little respect for other people's property, women or otherwise."

He turned to look at her. "Better it be know that you can put a man on his back and hold a knife to his throat," he said, feeling his neck for effect. "That's a reputation worth having. They might respect that."

She felt sick. Maybe he was right about Will not being here to defend her. She felt lost and scared. He was confusing her. She turned her back to hide her tears. "What do you know of it?" she sulked.

"I didn't vote you king because of your pretty face or your 'reputation'," he said, flipping hash browns. "I voted you king because of your reputation to see the bigger picture and not be swayed by self serving interest or fear of sacrifice. I respect you for that, not the pretty dresses you used to wear."

It was too much. To be insulted and praised in the same breath? She didn't know what to say. She didn't know what to think. She felt this awful gnawing, clenching feeling in the pit of her stomach.

He sighed and put the first batch of patties on to the plate she had set out for him. "If it makes you feel any better," he said, offering her the plate, "you've a fearsome pirate rogue, a really bad egg, cooking you hash patties in the middle of the night." She wiped her eyes and turned around. "Careful, they're hot."

A peace offering. She accepted without meeting his eyes, taking a patty with calloused fingers, impervious to heat from months of sailing and cooking at a hearth. She pursed her lips and blew on it before taking a bite. Crispy outer shell enveloped a soft potato centre, punctuated with flavourful bits of onion and salt pork. Mmm, she hummed. She hated Jack Sparrow. How could someone be so infuriating one moment and melt her heart the next? "These are so... good," she admitted.

He grinned as he watched her finish her patty and lick the grease from her fingers. His heart raced when she leaned in and gave him a quick kiss his cheek. "Thank you, Jack," she said. "And for the record, I do kiss Cotton on the cheek when he's been sweet to me."

* * *

"Are they fighting?" asked Ragetti.

"Who can tell with those two?" said Pintel. "They're always circling each other."

"Flirting more's the like," said Gibbs who had joined their card game. "Good to hear them both laughing. It's better for my soul that listening to that lass crying, and the Captain skulking about all ornery and such."

* * *

"I'm having eggs with mine. Do you want eggs?" he asked. She was setting out plates and cups for them. "How would you like them?"

"However you'd like to make them," she said, opening a new box of tea. She was usually more forthright with her orders, but she didn't feel like thinking for herself tonight. She trusted him. At least enough to make her eggs, even though he joked they would be bad.

"There are a few luxuries that I miss from Port Royal," she said while scooping tea leaves straight into the kettle to steep, as the tea pot had smashed in battle. "A good cup of tea is definitely at the top of my list." She would have said a bath, but that didn't turn out to be as relaxing as she'd hoped. Perhaps she'd choke on her tea tonight she thought ruefully. That empty feeling returned to her chest.

"Well, you can have as much as you can drink," he replied, cracking two eggs into the hot pan. "I think I'll stick to rum." He took the pan off the fire so they wouldn't burn. He cooked them sunny side up with runny yolks.

They sat at the mess table to eat their meal. Tea and rum with fried potato hash and runny eggs. She felt his boot toe to toe against hers under the table. She smiled.

"Speaking of really bad eggs," she said, digging into her plate with a laugh quirking at the corner of her mouth. "Have you ever tried those Chinese black eggs? Leather eggs, I think, they call them?"

He shook his head. Eating with his hands, he dipped a hot hash brown into his eggs. "They sound disgusting," he said, stuffing his mouth.

"Oh they were the most horrific things when I first peeled one. They look like a normal egg from the outside, but on the inside the whites are a hard black jelly and the yolks are grey and mushy and whole thing tastes a bit like ash!" Her eyes twinkling with a smile as she told her tale.

"They make a rice porridge and flavour it with salt pork and these leather eggs," she continued, between bites. "They would eat it every day for breakfast. All those weeks on the Empress, escaping Beckett and coming here, I ate that porridge every day. After a time, I believe I acquired a taste for really bad eggs."

"So there's hope for me yet?" he asked with a wink. She didn't respond, but a smile twinkled in her eye and she hummed their song. She was made of tougher stuff than one might think. He wondered about her adventures and what other "bad eggs" she met along the way.

* * *

The others had cleared out by the time they were done their meal. It was very late or very early depending on your perspective. Jack was quite drunk and starting to nod off at the table, but the tea was keeping Elizabeth alert. She tidied their mess and the one left by the card game in the other room.

He told her to leave it, slurring his words and trying to pull her onto his lap. She easily avoided him. Someone else would deal with it in the morning, he protested . But she was awake and preferred to tidy than to attract vermin.

When she was done he was snoring with his head on the table. She roused him and walked him up to his cabin. His arm around her shoulders, hers around his waist.

Once on deck his arms fell around her in a drunken hug. She shrugged him off easily, taking him by the hand and dragging him. She turned her back, but held onto his belt for fear of him going over, when he stopped at the railing to take a piss. When he was done she took him by the arm and guided him onward pushing him ahead of her.

The bed was made up, though she questioned the freshness of the bedding. No matter. Jack flopped into bed. She tucked him in like a child. Kissed his forehead before leaving. He was snoring again by the time she left his room. She sat by herself on the deck and waited for the sunrise.

* * *

 ** _Blah...! Well that was a painful chapter to write. It didn't flow for me at all. I really just wanted to get them to dawn, but quickly ran out of things for them to do or talk about. Was having trouble keep track of how they should be feeling. Hope it reads ok._**

 ** _Also, check out Jas Townsend and son on YouTube. They do an 18th century (American) cooking show. I've been wanting to work in a recipe into this story somewhere._**

 ** _Please review, follow and favourite. Your input is always welcome and appreciated._**


	9. Chapter 9

**_Unfortunately, not every chapter can be date night with Captain Sparrow. But the cloudy days make the sunny ones seem brighter, amiright? I knew some of these scenes had to happen, but I wasn't sure how or where they would happen, or that it would fill its own (short) chapter. Anyway, let me know what you think._**

 ** _Thanks to sleepy lotus, river and scarlet woman for the reviews._**

 ** _Disney owns all the things._**

* * *

Chp 9

With the confluence of so many people sharing the tight quarters of the island, and the ebbing of adrenaline post battle, a nasty flu was spreading across the city. It meant that repairs to the Pearl were delayed. So too did it delay the departure of many vessels.

Elizabeth was one of the first to be struck. Initially, she attributed the aches and exhaustion to too much rum and staying up all night. But soon a high fever, sore throat and hacking cough suggested otherwise. She was sent back to the Inn for care and spent most of the next few days trying to sleep.

She hated being sick. She was looking forward to helping with repairs on the Pearl and exploring the city. She felt a little better knowing she was not the only one struck by this sudden illness. Still, she was tired of being bedridden, though truth be told, it had only been a couple of days.

One afternoon she woke, shocked to find Tai Huang sitting in her room, sipping tea by the window. "King Swan," he said in greeting, bowing his head in a show of respect.

She sat up, erupting a fit of coughing. "Tai Huang?" she said, not meaning for it to sound like a question. She wondered if this was another fever dream. She never expected to see the Chinese pirate again. "Captain... Huang...?"

He nodded, "How are you feeling?"

She was still disoriented from waking. Running her fingers through her hair, she shook her head, "better," she said. "I've been drinking willow bark tea to break the fever and I was able to sleep today. How long have you been waiting...?" she asked.

"Just long enough to have a cup of tea," he said, pouring her a cup.

She nodded still working the cobwebs out of her head. "Why are you here?" asked Elizabeth, convinced that this might be a dream. She rubbed her eyes and pinched herself under the covers. Ow. Well at least that seemed real. Why was he here? How could this be real?

He grinned, "we commandeered a EIC ship and returned to trade our wares." He was lucky that this flu had kept enough crewmen sick that it had delayed many ships from departing. More people to trade with, meant they would get a better price for their bounty. "Crew voted for you to have one share," he said.

She looked at Tai Huang, surprised. "You and the crew don't owe me anything, Tai Huang," she said, wondering if she would regret those words even as they left her lips.

Her head was still in her old life where she didn't need to rely on anyone but her father. A role that was to be replaced by her husband. Neither were currently filling that role. She reminded herself that she must fend for herself now and that would likely mean accepting people's charity.

"We took your ship," he responded with his own surprise.

"It was never really mine," she replied laying back and closing her eyes, exhausted.

"We elected you Captain when no one else wanted the title," he said. "The Empress was rightfully yours for as long as you had it."

"You were always meant to take over from Sao Feng," she said. She never liked Sao Feng. He was the second pirate lord to lock her up, put her in a pretty dress and threaten to rape her. Barbosa was the first, though Elizabeth had developed a fondness for him.

Jack was the only other pirate lord she'd spent any amount of time with. He never laid a hand on her. Not even when she tempted him. Not even when she wished that he might.

"You made a better Captain than Sao Feng," he said, "you were both firm and decisive, but he was ruthless. You were fair."

"You'll make a better Captain than him," she said, "I only passed for captain because you were first mate." Remembering his competence in navigation and organizing the crew.

"You are generous with your praise," he said modestly. "The crew voted you one share. I will see that you receive it once the goods have been sold."

She nodded, "give my thanks and gratitude to the crew." They'd had their differences, but they spent enough time sailing together to earn some measure of respect for each other. That certainly had not always been the case. She lay back and closed her eyes recalling their first meeting.

* * *

Remove... please.

That was her introduction to Tai Huang and the crew of the Empress. Before entering Sao Feng's bath house, she and Barbosa were ordered to surrender their weapons. Those words put their plan at risk. Those words sent a chill down her spine.

Remove... please.

After surrendering several pistols and a grenade, he repeated the command looking her pointedly up and down. An extra precaution because of her attempted treachery? Revenge for holding a knife to his throat when they met on the streets moments earlier? Or simply taking advantage of a situation to see a woman remove her clothes? She stood in the entrance of Sao Feng's bath house surrounded by leering armed men and he was ordering her to strip.

Barbosa did not object, but looked at her with concern. He had his own end game and would not protect her if it threatened his goal. She quickly calculated her options. They were few. Given the circumstances, what could she do but comply?

Barbosa had warned her to expect the worst. She had thought through all of the scenarios of what "the worst" might mean for a woman like her, among pirates like this. This could quickly descend into a very bad situation. At least they would not forcibly removing her clothes. At least no one had touched her.

Remove... please.

Don't look scared, was Barbosa's advice. They smell fear. Don't look scared. Her blood ran cold. Don't look scared, was her mantra. She steeled herself as she undressed in front of these men. She looked defiant, a look she perfected as a child. She clenched her fists to hide her shaking hands. She push down her the fear that rose like bile in the back of her throat.

Remove... please.

This is how you die, she thought, or worse. She wasn't afraid of dying. She was afraid of the violence and shame that came with rape. These grinning men that surrounded her, were amused by her compliance. Her heart was racing. Her body glistening with a cold sweat in the hot humid night air. She stood naked and defiant before them. Her chin high. Her fists clenched. Terrified. Don't look scared.

She was grateful that Will wasn't here to see her like this. She couldn't do this if he were here. She prayed that he would not suddenly appear to see her. If it was just these men, just Barbosa, she could subject herself to this humiliation. She could pretend to be brave. If Will was here, it would remind her of who she used to be, of the world she came from. Remind her of propriety. Remind her of what she should be afraid of. If Will saw this, it would break him and that would break her.

Tai Huang smiled, not only at the sight of a beautiful woman's naked body, but also because her defiance amused him. They confiscated her clothes along with her weapons. He let his gaze wander across her body waiting for her to break.

She didn't break. Instead she challenged him, demanding entry to their scheduled meeting with Sao Feng. He grinned, his men laughed. He ordered one of the men to give her a short robe to cover herself and invited the two of them inside.

Barbosa watched her, concerned, as she tied the robe around herself. "You alright?" he asked under his breath.

"Fine," she whispered curtly, not meeting his eyes. "Don't tell Will. Please. I don't want him to know about this."

Hmph. Barbosa's nod barely perceptible, sealing their pact.

* * *

"If you prefer," said Tai Huang, sensing her hesitation, "you may consider it a wedding present." Perhaps he would regret bringing up her dead husband, but it seemed wrong not to acknowledge her recent marriage, if not celebrate it.

Elizabeth nodded sombrely. She looked at her hands. Brown and calloused. Free of any rings. "Thank you," she said, the reality of her situation setting in. She looked him in the eye, "your generosity could not have come at a better time." The world disappeared again in a veil of tears.

"We noticed, he always treated you as a lady," said Tai Huang quietly as she tried to regain her composure. "For better or worse he always saw you as such, not pirate, nor captain, nor King. You could always see the concern in his eyes."

She nodded, wiping her tears with her sleeve. "Do you think me a lady, Tai Huang?" she asked.

He paused to consider his answer before responding. "I think you a lady pirate," he said. "I have not met too many. Some, like Mistress Ching, have become more pirate than lady. Others have decided to become more lady than pirate. I see both in you."

She gave him a half smile at this diplomatic answer. He would make a good captain and pirate lord one day. "Which would you choose?" she asked.

"If I looked like you?" he grinned remembering their first meeting. Even now lying in her sickbed with wild hair and a threadbare chemise she was beautiful. "I would choose lady. Marry rich."

She smiled at his enthusiasm. She sighed, "I don't seem well suited for marriage. Men who choose me have a habit of dying."

He raised an eyebrow at this. "So you don't plan to remarry?"

"My expect my husband to return in ten years," she said. "It would seem inappropriate to have two husbands don't you think?"

Tai Huang shrugged, "you're King, you could have a harem, could you not?" He laughed, "even Sao Feng had two wives. Maybe talk to Captain Sumbhajee or his wives for advice."

Elizabeth looked at him, a little shocked. But he was right that some men had many wives. She had not hear of any woman with many husbands - but what of it? Her heart was heavy. She didn't want to marry anyone now.

"I should go," he said, excusing himself, "and find the day's price for tea and cotton. Come see us soon. We're docked near the Pearl."

He left and she was left alone full of new thoughts. Lady pirate with many husbands. She shook her head. One full share of the crew's bounty. That was worth smiling about.

* * *

 ** _Sorry gentle readers, this was a Jack sparrow free chapter. There will be others, but fear not Jack will be back. Just want to make sure our Lizzie is a fully formed three dimensional person who has relationships with other people who are not Jack Sparrow.  
_**

 ** _Also, the flash back scene, I actually rewatched that scene a number of times because I remember that she had bare legs in Singapore, but she didn't start out the movie with bare legs, so when did she lose her pants...?! Whoa Disney what the heck?_**

 ** _Please review, follow and favourite. Your feedback is a source of constant encouragement._**


	10. Chapter 10

**_Another chapter where I didn't know where to start. I know I'm trying to get from A to B, but B is very far away and I need to fill their lives with things between here and there. Hope there's enough in here to keep you interested. I think I have a pretty good direction for the next chapter._**

 ** _Thank you to River, Sleepy Lotus and Scarlet Woman for the reviews. Your feedback is always appreciated._**

 ** _Disney owns all the things. Just borrowing their characters and their world for a bit of fun._**

* * *

Chp 10

"I was so exhausted," he said, "I put on one boot and had to lay down for a rest before putting on my other boot."

"I was so tired," she said, "when I was combing my hair, I had to rest my arm between strokes."

"I was laying down to put on my shirt and resting my arms between doing up each button," chimed another voice.

"I had to rest my spoon between bites," added another, "I was living off soup because I was too weak to chew."

Captain Jack Sparrow was laying in bed half awake listening to the chatter and laughter outside his cabin. Most people were already recovering from this flu that was sweeping through Shipwreck Cove, when a cocky Jack Sparrow was finally hit by it.

Unfortunately for Jack, since he didn't have much sympathy for the crew when they were sick, they didn't have much sympathy for him now. But he was too tired to do anything about it. He couldn't even muster up enough energy to yell out his window for them to quiet down. He managed, with some effort, to roll onto his side and pull a pillow over his head.

* * *

Pirate bounty was rarely as glamorous as one might imagine. There were almost never treasure chests filled with gold and jewels, not even in this world, full of magic and mermaids. The ship that was commandeered by the Empress was one such non-gold and jewels filled ship.

Rather, it was a cargo ship, like many East India Company ships, that were in the area and pressed into joining Beckett's armada to fight against piracy. Ironic then that this and a few other ships would then be commandeered by pirates. The Empress was the first to return to Shipwreck Cove, successful in securing some bounty for trade.

They could get a good price for the ship itself, though how that sale would go through was yet to be determined. Not many pirates had enough spare cash to purchase a ship outright. It was one of the key reasons they decided to return to shipwreck cove. The brethren may choose to buy it from them whole or if other ships were in need of repair, they could sell it in parts.

The cannons themselves would fetch a pretty penny, though they were not great in number, as this was more of a cargo ship. The sails, which were all in fine condition, should also get a good price. A preliminary inventory of the cargo noted crates of tea, and bolts of silk and cotton. Food stores would be used for provisioning the Empress, though they would likely trade some of the ships biscuit for rice.

Personal effects of the sailors needed to be properly inventoried. Clothing, weapons and other personal effects would be laid out. There should be enough for each of the crew to take something from these piles. If anything was left over, like the cargo, it would be sold and the proceeds split. If there was not enough to go around it would be noted and whoever didn't get something would be given an equivalent cut in cash.

When she was healthy enough to stand for a length of time, she went down to the docks. First to the Pearl to see how everyone was doing. The crew was glad to see her and they traded stories of surviving the flu.

On the Empress the greeting was warm, but as her Chinese was basic, at best and only two were fluent in English it was more difficult to communicate. She spent most of that first day below deck sorting bolts of cloth by colour and type. Whatever order there was when they packed the ship was lost. The room looked like it had been turned upside down with bolts of cloth tumbling in every which direction. Some things were damaged by fire or water, during the commandeering of the ship. Those were set aside to see if they could be salvaged later. When there wasn't enough light to see by she sat in a corner to rest. She found herself waking up just before dawn tucked under a blanket.

She worked with Tai Huang to devise a plan for who they should sell what goods. There was a cotton ban in England, but it was very popular in continental Europe. Calico prints were all the rage. Anything dyed in indigo was also a hot commodity in all of Europe. Blue was such a difficult colour to find there.

She was on ships and in smokey taverns haggling with merchants and captains for the best price. A man's world. She hardly saw any women during this time. Though she was used to working among men, many were not used to her presence.

Catcalls were another thing she had to endure. Mostly harmless request to smile or invitations to bed or marriage proposals. She ignored most of them and went about her business. She was waiting for someone to get up in her face or call her a whore, but it hadn't happened yet.

* * *

Someone was kissing his cheek. His eyes flew open to see her startled face lit by the dusky light, outside his window. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you," she whispered, "it's getting late, but I thought you'd still be awake." He realized he'd been drooling in his sleep and wiped his face before struggling to sit up. She tsked at him, rearranging the pillows to make him more comfortable.

It was strange to see him like this. His hair unbound, eyes not lined with kohl. He was shirtless. Tanned skin and muscle. Tattoos and scars. She swallowed a sigh and tried not to stare at his bare chest or wonder if he was naked under the sheets.

"I brought you some broth," she said, distracting herself from carnal thoughts, nodding to a lidded mug at his bedside. "It's bitter, but the herbs should help to bring down your fever."

She had her hair braided in one long plait down her back. Her shirt wrapped around her and fastened at the throat and collarbone with Chinese buttons and tied with a bow at her waist. He wondered how much of her outfit would come undone if he pulled the tail of that bow.

The room felt suddenly warm and he was quite sure the cause was the proximity of this girl and not his fever. He didn't realize he had been staring until he saw her blush and look away. "It's late, I should let you rest," she said, getting up.

"No," he said, "I'm sorry. I wasn't expecting you." He reached for her hand and pulled her back to sit on the edge of the bed. "Stay a while," he coughed. "Or I may die of boredom before this flu has a chance to kill me."

"You'll survive it, Jack," she smiled. He loved her smile. Loved that she thought enough of him to come visit. Maybe this illness was making him weak and sentimental.

He hadn't found the time to visit her when she was sick. He could have. But he'd busied himself with repairs on the Pearl and trolling the taverns for drink and song and the company of women. Damn her for making him want to be a better man. "I'm sorry I didn't come to see you," he mumbled.

"It's alright," she said. She didn't need to tell him she waited every day with the hope that he might come by, that she might catch a glimpse of him in the square, or hear his voice in the hallway. She didn't need to see him. She just hoped she might. She made excuses for him when he didn't come, but remained hopeful. Sometimes hope is all you need to keep going.

"I meant to," he said. "I would hear from others that you were holding up. I was just busy with the Pearl..." He was making excuses. He should have made time to see her. Damn her for making him feel badly about.

"Jack," she said, a gentle hand cupping his cheek. She was smiling him, "it's alright." She held his eyes until he nodded. It was her fourth day on the docks. She knew how busy things could be. "I'm glad that we can see each other now," she said. He nodded.

"Tell me how you've been," he said with a sigh. He realized he was still holding her hand. It wasn't the soft hand of a lady. His thumb gently traced each finger, every little scar, cut and callous. These were working hands. He never would have guessed these hands would belong to the girl he pulled out of the water so long ago in Port Royal. He felt a twinge of sadness for these hands.

She was hypnotized by his touch. She lay her other hand on top of his to stop him. "You've probably heard the Empress returned," she said, regaining her faculties, only to have him treat her other hand to the same caress. "The crew voted me a full share," she looked away, taking slow deep breaths to try to stop her heart from racing. His thumb tracing the pattern of her hand, memorizing its contours, a distraction that scrambled her tried brain.

"So I've heard," he said. Getting a full share without being a member of the crew was unheard of and was currently the gossip of the docks. Most took it for what it was, some combination of: respect for King and former captain; repayment for freeing them from the Dutchman; and pity on a young widow who found herself suddenly alone in the world. Not all of the gossip was so respectful. He worried a little about the things she must be hearing. "It was generous of them," he said closing his eyes for a moment to rest.

"It was very generous. I never expected it," she said. "I've been busy trying to earn my piece of it, since I've been strong enough to get out of bed. Helping with inventory and haggling to get the best price for our plunder. It feels good to work."

He nodded, tried to clear his throat but choked on his own spit, which set off a fit of coughing. His face red as he struggled for breath. The sheets slipping down revealing bare hips. She turned away blushing. It was his practice to sleep in all of his clothes when at sea and naked when docked.

He smiled at her discomfort. "If I knew you were coming I might have dressed," he said, laying back exhausted, once he regained his breath. "Or you could join me in my undress," he teased.

"Drink your broth," she said, tucking the sheets back around him and holding the mug to his lips. The docks were full of fit young shirtless pirates toiling in the sun. Pirates who seemed quite comfortable dropping their pants and relieving themselves on the edge of the docks. She was getting used to seeing men's bodies in various states of undress. But this was different and it left her flustered.

"What's the plunder?" he asked, his eyes twinkling. A smile on his lips. "Chests full of gold and jewels?" He laughed, setting off another fit of coughing.

She made him take some more broth when he composed himself. "Tea and cloth mostly," she replied. "The biggest prize is the ship itself. There was some damage, but she's still seaworthy. Too expensive for anyone to buy outright for the price we want, so we're selling off parts. Whatever's left will sold as lumber and become part of the city. I've already talked to Gibbs to see if there's anything the Pearl can use."

His heart swelled with pride to hear her talking like this. "Lizzie, my pretty pirate lass, living off the avails..." he hummed before leaning back and closing his eyes.

"I should let you rest," she yawned, "I'll come back another day." She didn't realize how exhausted she was and made no move to leave. She could probably fall asleep sitting right here on the edge of the bed.

"It's late. You shouldn't be out walking alone after dark," he said after a long pause. His fingers reached out and found the tips of her fingers in the dark.

She rolled her eyes. "Thanks, are you my father now? I think I'll be fine." But still she didn't get up. Their fingertips touching.

"Prove it," he smiled, remembering the time she put him on his back. She smiled and shook her head, stifling another yawn. "It's alright if you stay," he said. He shifted to make room for her and settle himself in to sleep.

It would be so easy to stay. Just kick off her shoes and lay her heavy head next to his. She turned to face him. "People will talk," she said.

"People are already saying you've bedded the crew of the Empress," he said wondering at her reaction to the rumour.

She'd heard something of that. It was a stupid rumour. What crew would vote a full share to a former ships whore? "It's not true," she said. "I've not given myself to anyone but Will," she said hopeful that mention of her husband would kill the mood.

He sat up and cupped her cheek gently, leaning in to draw a kiss from her lips, leaving her breathless. "I beg to differ. If people are talking anyway," he said, "why not give them something to talk about?" Before the shock of his kiss wore off and she regained her faculties, he was passed out snoring.

* * *

 ** _Does she stay? Does she go? Will things get steamy between these two? You'll have to wait for next chapter to find out! Please follow, favourite and review. I love getting your input._**

 ** _I've paraphrased 2 songs in this chapter, because if you're not smart enough to write your own sentimental lines you should steal them from love songs. Any guesses?_**


	11. Chapter 11

**_Thanks (as always) to River, Scarlet Woman and Sleepy Lotus for your reviews. Your feedback is always appreciated._**

 ** _Disney owns all the important characters and the world. I've started throwing in some OC's and filling in some details of shipwreck cove and making up some back stories for our favourite Disney characters._**

* * *

Chp 11

Elizabeth grew up with the unusual luxury of not having to share her bed. It's not that she'd never shared a bed, but mostly she had her own room and her own bed, with no one else in it but her.

It was not always so. She remembered sharing a bed with her mother when her father was away at sea. After her mother died her favourite maid, Aileen, slept in the bed with her, but she was distraught at her mother's death and fearful of being in the house where she died.

For three nights she stayed with Aileen's family, a tiny one room cottage with both parents and eight siblings. Aileen's mother would turn everyone out of the house before bed so that the furniture could be rearranged and the whole family would sleep on the floor together side by each.

After that she was sent to her uncles farm where she had to share a bed with her cousin Mary, who was resentful because she'd never had to share a bed the way her brothers did. Mary would endeavour to hog the blankets and take up as much room as possible so that Elizabeth would be squished to one corner.

Even now at the Inn, most guests were bunking two or three or four to a bed, often with strangers. Elizabeth had the privilege of being granted not only her own bed but also her own room. So, despite her concern for propriety, Jack's offer of space in his bed to sleep for the night, was not meant to be an offer of anything other than just that.

* * *

She wasn't there in the morning. He had a vague memory of her soothing him when he woke coughing in the middle of the night. But he could have dreamed it.

He thought maybe she would leave a note. Girls did that, didn't they? Leave little notes that smelled like perfume. But there was no note. He frowned.

Maybe he dreamed the whole thing. No he didn't. There was her mug at his bedside.

He kissed her. Did he kiss her? That was probably a dream. Not the first he time he dreamed that dream. Though usually the dream involved her pushing him up against a mast or wall or pinning him to the deck and kissing him. He liked being at her mercy. No matter. It must not have happened. He was quite sure she would have left a note that smelled like perfume if he had kissed her.

* * *

One bolt of blue silk, with a small burn near edge that went through the first 5 layers of cloth. One bolt of cotton printed with red calico flowers, dirty from soaking in bilge water; would require washing and drying, but this dye was fantastically colour fast and didn't seem to run at all. One box of tea, undamaged. One folding pocket knife, good condition, would improve with oil and sharpening. One small purse of silver coins.

She laid out her first payment on her bed at the inn. All of the ships cargo had been sold and accounted for. There would be further payment once all the parts of the ship were sold.

Payment in instalments meant the crew couldn't blow all of their earnings on gambling, drinking and women. Their second payment would be made when they were about to set sail or perhaps when they arrived home. It was a bit paternalistic, but many of the men had little education in financial planning and holding back some of their pay was much appreciated by their waiting families.

It was a relief for Elizabeth to have some money of her own. There was something unsettling about living off the charity of others or feeling indebted to people. At least to people who weren't responsible for her. These were strangers really, for how well did Esmeralda or the brethren really know her? There was always a worry that their charity would dry up and she would be out on the street.

But now she had a new worry. She had money and no where safe to keep it. Worse, other people knew she had money and no where safe to keep it. Tai Huang had one of the crew walk her back to the inn, not only to help carry her things, but also for protection from possible mugging.

She poured out the coins and counted out half. She rolled up half the coins in one of the sleeve ends she'd torn off her Chinese armour. She hid this under her clothes in a drawer.

She took the cloth wadding out of the toes of her boots. Sometimes it was handy to have boots too big to fill. She put a few coins in the toe of each boot and adjusted the wadding accordingly. Put her boots on. They felt ok and didn't jingle when she walked.

The rest of the coins went back into the purse and were tucked into a sash that she wore inside the waist of her pants. She would need to reach into her pants to access her purse, but it wasn't as awkward as it sounded. She practiced a couple of times in front of the mirror.

She sat for a bit sharpening her new knife and contemplating whether it was better to leave her money in the drawer or if she should keep it all on her person. Other options: burying it on an island that she was not familiar with and was full of pirates? No. Hiding it under the mattress? Perhaps, if this was her own home, but it was a room of an inn, so... no. Locking it up in a safe or a chest? She had neither and if she did would worry about pirates making off with the whole thing. Putting it in a bank? There were no banks in Shipwreck City and if their were who would trust a bank run by pirates? Tie up its value in goods or services? She wasn't about to spend it all on drink and prostitutes. Jewelry? Some rings? Perhaps. There must be something else. She took the roll of coins from the drawer, put it in her pocket and went to find Esmeralda.

"I'd like to pay for my room a month in advance," she said.

Esmeralda looked at her with a frown, "The brethren were quite clear that they would cover your debts."

"I prefer to pay my own way," said Elizabeth. "In advance. A month, maybe two. However many days or weeks this will cover," she said, pulling out her roll of coins.

"Two months?" Esmeralda asked with a raised eyebrow. "Will you be staying that long?" She pulled out her ledger. "Usually our guest beg credit rather than advance payment."

"If I don't end up staying the full two months," said Elizabeth, "I trust that you can refund me if my plans or circumstances change?"

Esmeralda considered this for a moment. Elizabeth was banking her money at the Inn. "Yes, of course. I'll set up a tab for you," Esmeralda smiled. "A little different from what I'm used to, but this shouldn't be a problem."

* * *

Shipwreck city was made of several parts. It was famous for the buildings in the middle of the cove made from the wreckage of ships. Meetings of the brethren court were held there. Many of the stores were warehoused there; nonparishables, armoury, ship supplies like rope and sails and lumber. But it was too cut off for convenient everyday living.

The main village was located on the north side of to cove to maximize sunlight with the southern exposure at this latitude. A smaller fishing village was in an inlet to the west and a smattering of farms around the island, though the island was small enough that most farmers lived in town.

Higher up the hill was where the locals lived and shopped. It was quieter than the docks, which were both for pirates passing through town, looking for a good time during a short shore leave, as well as warehouses for trade and shops specializing in ship repairs. Past the town were farms and fields and forests enough to sustain the small population of permanent residents.

Elizabeth was feeling light as a feather and free as a bird. It was her first day away from the docks. No work this afternoon. After everyone was paid they were given the rest of the day off, so she was free to roam.

* * *

She used to love getting a new dress. The last dress she wore was the one Sao Feng dressed her in before he threatened to rape her. Before that was her wedding dress. This past year she'd mostly been living in men's clothes. Pants not skirts. No corsets nor stays. Mostly the same dirty clothes every day, day after day, until her body adapted to the filth and stopped itching.

Walking into a dress shop was overwhelming and seeing such beautiful things almost put her to tears. There was an elaborate gown displayed in the window. A testament to their fine tailoring. However, inside the shop were much simpler frocks that seemed to be popular with the local women. Simple gowns that didn't require reams and reams of fabric nor the complicated underpinnings of bustles and hoops. Shorten stays with little or no boning, provided support without constricting breathing or movement required for sailing. These dresses were more comfortable and practical than the heavy gowns she was used to.

Some of the gowns on display were something like a chemise, but fitted under the bust, trimmed and made from the bright printed cotton calico from the Empresses plunder. They had diaphanous Grecian gowns made from layers of translucent muslin. Light and colourful silk saris that she never learned how to wear, despite her time in India. Printed sarongs that could be tied into simple dresses.

Her father would treat her to the latest fashions from Europe. He would be scandalized by the amount of skin some of these dresses showed. Elizabeth had seen enough of the world to know the world had different ideas of women's modesty.

Much to her fathers dismay, she seemed just as comfortable running about Port Royal in nothing but a soaking wet chemise, propriety be damned. She'd had the privilege of never being harmed regardless of the state of her dress or undress. Even when she was stripped in Singapore. Even when she was alone with Jack on a deserted island. She's not sure what vexed her more on that island, that he could have done something or that he didn't do anything. She wondered sometimes if something was wrong with her that she had never roused a man to the point of taking her against her will. She shouldn't think like that, tempting fate could change her fortune.

"Can I help you with anything?" asked a beautiful dark skinned woman in a colourful calico dress, her hair wrapped in contrasting cloth piled so high on her head it rivalled the size and shape of the largest wigs of Parisian fashion. "Oh, Elizabeth, is it?"

"Yes," said Elizabeth remembering the woman from the docks. A hard woman to forget, statuesque and regal in her carriage, as if she'd been carved from ebony, her easy smile, the brightest ivory. She was one of the first people to see and buy their wares and drove a hard bargain. Dozens of bolts of silk and calico cotton were deliver to her store the next day. "Neema, so this is your shop," she said, as they embraced in greeting. As much as theirs was a professional relationship, it was nice to see a familiar face.

"Are you buying or selling today?" asked Neema, "we were really pleased with the new calico prints. Women have already been putting in their orders."

Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm just browsing today," she said. "I have some blue silk and red calico that I'd like to have tailored, but..."

Elizabeth remembered the feeling she would get walking down the streets of Port Royal in a new gown. She would feel... powerful. The way all heads would turn. All eyes would be on her. Since she'd been on the run, her dress was quite the opposite, dress to blend in - with men. Doing what she could to make herself invisible. Perhaps she wasn't ready to be seen. She felt guilty for wanting something as frivolous as a new silk gown. For what occasion would she wear it?

She shook her head again. "Lately, I feel like maybe I don't deserve to wear beautiful things."

Neema nodded, "you're still in mourning. It's understandable."

Elizabeth sighed. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps if Will was here she would find reason to dress up in a way that would tempt a man's desire. "It's sack cloth and ashes for me then," she mused with a half smile. She took the handkerchief being proffered to her and dabbed her eyes.

"Take some time," said Neema, "I know what it's like to lose a husband."

Elizabeth nodded. She shouldn't be surprised to hear that. She had a hand in widowing a number of women less than a fortnight ago. She composed herself, "perhaps I'll return when I'm feeling more ready," she said.

"Come back anytime," said Neema. "Even if it's just to talk. I may be busy with my sewing, but I always welcome the company."

* * *

"You read?" asked the old man behind the counter of a tiny bookshop.

"Yes," she said, "I read quite well in English and French, and a little Spanish and Portuguese, enough for charts and maps, though probably not enough to get through a book."

The store was really just a nook between two buildings. Someone had added a roof and a door to close off the space. The counter where the man sat, had paper and notebooks and pencils and ink. The front of the store displayed maps and charts and navigational tools. The back of the store is where she found two narrow bookcases full of new and used books.

"You're not looking for a bible are you?" he asked.

"No," she said, her head tilted to better read the spines.

"Women seem to like bibles," he said. "Not sure why. All their praying doesn't bring their men back."

"It did for me once," she mused distracted by the titles she was scanning.

"Eh?" he said, bringing her back to the present.

"Well, not the bible," she said, "but something like prayer. Or maybe prayer didn't make any difference at all. Maybe it was everything else. We did everything that could be done. Maybe praying too," she was talking herself in circles. "Regardless, he came back."

"Heh?" said the man not following her rambling. "What kind of book do you seek?"

"You wouldn't have anything about the Flying Dutchman, would you?" she asked, if there was a way to bring Jack back from the locker, perhaps there might be a way to bring Will back.

The old man shook his head, "no, but we have this new book of stories, recently translated, called Arabian Nights. There are a thousand and one stories in here to keep you entertained until whoever it is you're waiting for returns."

"Did I say I was waiting for someone?" she asked.

"The only women who come into my store are waiting for someone or looking for someone," he said. "But you're not looking at the charts, beside it's rare I'll see a woman sailor. I'm guessing you're waiting not looking. The ones who don't buy bibles, usually buy paper and pencils to write little notes that smell like perfume to their lovers. I can sell you paper and a pencil. You can buy perfume a few doors down at the apothecary."

"No, that's quite alright..." she said, continuing her scan of the bookshelf, "but I might be interested in this." Arabian Nights, she plucked it from the shelf. She was not familiar with Arab stories, though they did spend some time in Persia on their way to Singapore. On their way to worlds end. On the trip where she prayed for his return and her prayers were answered.

Could she do the same for Will? For her husband, William Turner? The man she professed to love. But he didn't have her heart. She felt sick to think it.

Arabian Nights. She thumbed absently through the pages, trying to distract herself from her own thoughts. She loved getting lost in a book. "I'll take this," she said.

"Are you sure you don't want some note paper?" the old man asked as she paid for her book.

"Quite sure," she smiled, "but I may be back for more books."

"Oh good," he said, as much to himself as to her, "not a lot of pirates interested in buying books. Most don't read at all. Bunch of illiterates."

* * *

His fever finally broke. He was hale enough to leave the bed and wander about the ship for the first time in days, though he found himself looking for a place to rest far too often. Even just walking across the deck had him leaning against the railing to catch his breath more than once.

It was good to be able to follow up on the state of repairs. With the ship that the Empress had towed in and now two other vessels commandeered with parts for sale, things seemed to be moving along swimmingly. There was still much work to do, but they might be ready to leave earlier than he anticipated.

He found himself thinking about her. She had him bewitched, damn siren. He couldn't get her out of his head. He could taste her on his lips. It wasn't enough to satisfy. He wondered if she would be back. He was hungry to see her again.

* * *

"Permission to come aboard, Captain," she said standing over him.

He'd fallen asleep on deck. She was nudging him with the toe of her boot, the sun creating a blazing halo around her head, as he squinted up at her. "Lizzie," he said, trying to sound nonchalant, "what brings you aboard my ship."

She sat down next to him. "I had the afternoon off," she said smiling, with the back of her hand on his forehead, "and thought I'd see how you were doing."

"How am I doing?" he said seriously. His dark eyes locked on hers until she looked away blushing. He smiled and caught her hand before she could pull it away. She froze as he kissed her fingertips. He turned her hand over and kissed her palm. Then the inside of her wrist. His touch slow and lingering. She held her breath the whole time.

She regained her senses and pulled her hand away, annoyed. "You seem better today," she said, ignoring the desire he stirred up inside her and pretending nothing had just happened.

He laughed at her reaction to his flirting. "Tell me about your day," he said lying back down on the deck. "I spent most of mine in bed," wondering if last night was more eventful than I remembered. "I did get up and walk around the deck," too see if I might catch a glimpse of you working. "I supposed that could be considered eventful, except that I fell asleep again. But here you are," and I couldn't have wish for better. He was having trouble keeping track of what he was thinking versus what was actually coming out of his mouth. Maybe he was still dreaming.

"We were paid today," she said. "I bought a book."

"Not a dress?" He was a little disappointed. "I figured that would be the first thing you would do. Something bright and flowy and clingy and..." he cleared his throat and closed his eyes imaging her in various states of undress.

She shook her head. "My heart wasn't in it," she said, how else could she explain if?

"Mmm..." he hummed, his eyes still closed. "Sorry," he said, "I assumed your heart would feel better wearing a new dress. Maybe something with a low neckline. Or a high slit to show off those long legs of yours..."

"Stop," she blushed and swatted at him. He was being ridiculous. But she couldn't help but smile.

"Well," he said, "if you're not going to entertain me with the sight of your legs. You can read to me from your book."

"You make a lot of demands," she said.

"I'm captain of this ship," he said, "it's my job to give orders. Besides I'm sick and not really good company and you're itching to get into that book, so read it to me."

She couldn't think of how to argue with that, except perhaps to leave him lying here alone in the deck. But she didn't have anywhere better to go, so she pulled out her book. She read out loud the story of two brothers, both kings who had beheaded their wives for adultery. For three years the elder king Shahriyár would take a virgin to his bed, but kill her at the end of the night before she could betray him.

Soon there were almost no more virgins of marrying age left in the land. The daughter of the king's Wazeer, Shahrazád, volunteered to marry the king, she had an idea of how she might survive. She would tell a tale every night and leave a cliffhanger so the king would need to delay her execution in order to find out how the story ended.

Elizabeth was not sure how long she read for, nor how awake Jack was for the reading. But a number of pirates found an excuse to work close enough and quiet enough to listen in on the story. It was getting to dusk by the time she finished the the first story.

She felt strangely conflicted reading about the beheading of adulterous women, whom this book declared could not be trusted with their vows as they were driven by desire. Would she too be guilty of following her desire and breaking her vow to Will? Would he forgive her or kill her in anger as did the kings in this story?

Some would say that she was king of her story. Perhaps it was Will who was straying from his vow? Perhaps she would find fault with him when they next met? What was the use of spinning these thoughts in her head?

She looked over at Jack whom she was quite certain was asleep by now. "Jack," she said, shaking him gently.

He woke with a start, sitting up so suddenly they almost bumped heads. "I'm awake," he cried.

She laughed, getting up, "come on, let's get you into bed." At least his cabin wasn't far. He took the hand she offered to help him up. He proceeded to drape an arm over her shoulders and stumble into his quarters.

He kicked off his boots and removed his shirt before asking, "if I leave my pants on will you stay the night?"

Elizabeth was ready to leave. She meant to turn and cross the small space between the bed and the door, but found herself transfixed at the sight of him half dressed and shocked at the implications of his proposition. "No," she managed to choke out.

"Fine," he said before dropping his pants. He turned to face her before climbing into bed, "you're still welcome to stay. Keep your clothes on if you like."

She thought she might faint or burst out laughing or throw something at him in outrage. When she managed to pick her jaw up off the floor she turned and wished him good night. The sight of his naked body seared into her brain.

"Come back tomorrow and read us another bedtime story," he said as he snuggled under the covers and watched her walk away.

"Good night, Jack," was all she said in reply as she hurried away, laughter lifting her feet as she floated back to the Inn.

* * *

 ** _Betcha weren't expecting that. Well, steamy scene between these two...? This is not it. I do have something planned, but it is yet too soon. I've got a couple ideas for where I might fit it in._**

 ** _If anyone has any resources on how much things were worth back in the day that would be helpful. I've found websites that talk about the worth of things in pounds and shillings and pennies, but not in reales/pesos/pieces of eight. So I'm being really vague on how much money she actually has and how much things are worth._**

 ** _And the Arabian nights, I picked that book before I read it (there's a free version on Gutenberg . Org) there was a French translation in the early 1700s. The English version apparently didn't come out until the early 1800s, so I'm playing with history, but mermaids, so whatever. Am also playing with fashion timelines a bit as well, I think Elizabeth looks lovely in clothes from the regency period and will find an excuse to put her in such a dress damn it. As if Disney has been true to period fashion._**

 ** _I hope my OC's work out. I always get a little nervous with OCs._**

 **Lastly, I write this story on the notepad of my phone. Often writing during my bus/subway commute to work, but the weathers getting better and I'm going to start biking again (except that they're calling for snow next week). Not sure if that's going to affect updates, but it may slow things** ** _down._**

 ** _Please follow, favourite and review. I love getting your feedback._**


	12. Chapter 12

**_Thanks to River and Sleepy Lotus and (new reviewer) 5dreamcatcher for their feedback! It is always welcome and appreciated._**

 ** _writing seems to be flowing better lately, not sure if it's because I've found my rhythm or if it's because I'm drifting farther from canon and don't feel the need to double check for accuracy._**

 ** _Hope you enjoy this chapter. Let me know what you think._**

 ** _Disney owns the franchise. I'm just borrowing characters and their world for a bit of fun. Some OC's are mine._**

* * *

Chp 12

Shipwreck Cove was as busy as it had ever been. Some ships that had arrived for the brethren court were still docked. First delayed by illness, then staying for trade with the Empress and other ships that were successful in picking off cargo ships from the British armada and bringing back goods to trade.

Business was brisk for locals and visiting pirates. There was also opportunity for pirates to find new opportunities. Sail with a different crew, to a new part of the world.

A number of pirates from the Black Pearl and the Empress chose to join other ships. Trying their fortune on the seas rather than remain behind to take advantage of jobs and trade. Staying was probably more lucrative in the short term, but some sailors, especially those who didn't know their letters and numbers, just preferred to sail.

* * *

The rhythm of her days changed when the carcass of the commandeered ship was towed to free up space at the docks to the wreck city for demolition. They could have just towed the ship somewhere and left it some other entrepreneur to take advantage of, but they could get a good price by taking the ship apart. The lumber had a much higher value when it was in a ready to use form.

She was up before dawn waiting with, what was left of, the Empresses crew to catch a ferry. While they waited, Master Wu, who the men called Sifu, would lead them in tai chi exercises. Sometimes they would engage in gentle sparing called pushing hands. She was not very good, but Sifu was endlessly patient in correcting her moves.

Her days were spent taking apart a ship. Slowly and methodically. Every board and beam carefully pried up. Splintered ends were sawed off to be sold as firewood. Every nail that could be kept was straightened, sorted and inventoried. The ones too bent to be saved were set aside to be smelted as scrap metal.

The issue of language was isolating for Elizabeth. Her Cantonese was improving. She could follow orders and some basic conversation, but she still had great difficulty expressing herself.

She found herself more exhausted by trying to understand what was being said around her, than from the physical labour. Sometimes at the end of the day, when she was tired, she would find her mind reaching for words in broken Portuguese or Spanish or something other than English but happened not to be Chinese either. If it wasn't so frustrating it would be comical.

She liked that they didn't baby her with light tasks. The work she did was as physically demanding as the next man. They respected her for that. Though some days her body felt wrecked by the end of the day, she respected herself for keeping up with the work. But she would always be an outsider. She was not,and could never really be, just one of them.

At the end of the day, when the light was too faded to work, they would take the ferry back to the village. Elizabeth would take her supper with friends aboard the Pearl. It always felt like a weight was being lifted when she was back among English speakers. She always felt at home among this motley crew.

They welcomed her warmly. Joking about her stealing their food. It wasn't true, they knew they had free access to the stores because of the battle they won and Elizabeth was a member of that crew. Besides, she was easy on the eyes, and besides besides, after their meal, she would join them in a song or entertain them with another chapter from her book.

Then Jack would invite her to spend the night. Elizabeth would decline. The crew would chuckle and jeer at his attempts to win her over. He would walk her back to the Inn and they would talk about the minutiae of their days. She would decline to invite him up to her room, but head upstairs alone and fall exhausted into a fitful sleep. He would head to the docks to find other entertainment for the night.

* * *

The dark cloud of a typhoon rolled in from the horizon late one afternoon. Lightning flashing in the distance. The wind gusting strong enough to create whitecaps on the normally still waters of this protected cove. Gibbs left knee had been forecasting a bad storm. Jack ordered his skeleton crew to tie down everything on the deck of the Pearl that could be tied down. Everything that couldn't be tied down but could be carried was taken below deck. They took cover in his cabin just as the rain started.

The sky was black as night when the rain started. The wind was fierce, tossing trees on shore and tearing at masts and sails along the docks. It was coming down so hard they couldn't see past the edge of the deck. The water poured off the roof of the cabin in buckets. The wind rattled the windows. The mast creaked and gusts of wind would rock the Pearl so hard she strained against her moorings.

Suddenly the door flew open and a soaking wet Elizabeth stepped inside. The wind was such that she had to lean the full weight of her body to close it again. Elizabeth was so wet, rivulets of water ran down her back and between her breasts. Her pants were so heavy with water they threatened to slide off her hips. Her boots were full to their brims with water.

It hadn't started raining when she'd left on the ferry, but the storm blew in so quickly they found themselves bailing out the small boat before they reached shore. Maybe she should have gone to the Inn. But it was much farther to walk in this blinding weather, and she'd gotten so used to coming straight to the Pearl after work. Besides, she'd be all alone at the Inn and she had left her book here.

"Gentlemen," she said in greeting. She didn't realize how her threadbare shirt was clinging to her until she noticed the men grinning stupidly while staring at her chest.

"Lizzie, darling," said Jack with a hungry look. He made no attempt to hide his gaze, "so glad you could join us in this typhoon. Can I help you out of those wet clothes?"

She blushed and looked away, crossing her arms and turning her back. She wasn't just embarrassed because of some ingrained sense of modesty. She was embarrassed because she had gotten used to being just one of the guys, and this moment made it very clear that she was not, and could never really be, just one of them.

"Come on," he said more gently putting his coat over her shoulders, "you can borrow something dry." She followed him, sloshing and anxious, into his chambers. He opened a dresser. "Help yourself to something that fits."

* * *

No one was hungry enough to brave the weather and bring food up from the pantry. Instead they raided the cabin for sustenance, snacking on peanuts and getting drunk on rum.

"Do you think it'll let up?" asked Ragetti, looking out the window of Jack's cabin at the howling wind and driving rain.

Elizabeth sighed, "it doesn't look it." She wondered if she'd accept Jack's open invitation to spend the night. She'd already accepted dry clothes from him. Why not take his bed too? Maybe drinking on an empty stomach was a bad idea.

She was wearing his shirt, curled up on the bench next to him, her bare legs tucked under her. Her head hurt. Maybe it was the weather. Maybe it was the rum. She leaned her head on his shoulder and let him put him arm around her.

It had been his turn to read. She had made him do it, once she found out how much he enjoyed reading. He agreed only if she would to do the women's voices, which meant she had to sit close enough to see the pages. When it was her turn to read, he reciprocated by reading the male parts.

Story time was over. It was getting late. Or maybe it just felt late because of the dark storm and her sleepy drunken state. She was listening to the rain beating down against the roof of the cabin. The Pearl rocked with the wind and the waves. She wasn't going back to the Inn tonight. Just the thought of putting her feet into cold wet boots made her shudder. No. She would be spending the night.

"I've had a long day," she said, getting up from the bench. "I'm going to bed. Good night gentlemen." She crossed the room feeling all of their eyes on her, let herself into Jack's chambers.

Her heart was pounding as she settled herself under the covers. What must they think of her? She strain to hear their reaction, expecting jeers, but the wind and rain were too loud. As tired as she was, sleep did not come. She lay under the covers listening to the storm, wondering what she was doing here.

* * *

Legs. He was mesmerized by her legs. Bare legs extending past the edge of his shirt revealing backs of knees, calves, ankles. Graceful long legs crossing the floor into his room. Her legs in his bed. He was still thinking about them when Gibbs interrupted.

"A word Captain," said Gibbs. He wasn't sure where to start. He and the others had talked about it more than once. That someone should say something. "We can't help but notice how close you've become with Mrs. Turner," he said, making a point of using her married name. "We don't want to see you treating her like you have others. I'm not one to get involved in your love affairs, but we've all grown very fond of Elizabeth. We won't take her mistreatment lightly."

Jack scoffed at his claim of not meddling. Joshamee Gibbs lived for gossip and getting into people's business. "I've never treated a woman badly," he said, not even quite believing himself as he said it. He thought through a list of women who might to whom he might owe some debt or apology.

"I don't pretend to understand women," Gibbs continued, "goddess knows I've had my own trouble with them. But I've been around the taverns enough to know about the promises you break and the string of broken hearts you've left in your wake."

"It's not like that with us," said Jack. "She's different." He didn't think of her the way he did other women. He'd never spent so much time chasing someone without making a move, or giving up and moving on. "Look," he said reassuringly, "Lizzie and I are square, savvy? You can ask her yourself."

"Say what you will Captain," said Gibbs, not at all reassured. "If things go badly, we're siding with her."

Jack looked around the room at the other men nodding solemnly in agreement. He was annoyed. Mutineers the lot of them. He was more annoyed because if he was one of them he would probably take their side.

"Captain," Ragetti said, "no disrespect," he was not usually one to assert himself without good reason, "but we like having Miss Elizabeth around and if you break her heart and she stops coming... Well, it'll be a sad day for all of us."

That was it wasn't it? It was Elizabeth who decided when she came and went. There was nothing keeping her here but good company and not even just his company. She wasn't even technically part of his crew anymore, though they all treated her as such. He was not her Captain. There was no payment owed to her. She was here only because she wanted to be here. She was a friend and everyone's favourite.

He wasn't good with women friends. He was fine with lovers and mates, even prostitutes, but she wasn't any of these. He treated her like a mate, but he thought of her like a lover. She was sleeping in his bed and he was going to bungle it somehow. He was going to hell.

* * *

She was in that state of dreamy half sleep when he came to the room. He took off his boots and lay down next to her. On top of the sheets. With his clothes on. He lay there taking slow deep breaths, while staring at the ceiling and listening to the storm.

"Are you awake?" she whispered after a time. Something felt wrong.

"Lizzie?" he replied, rolling on his side to face her. He couldn't really make her out in the stormy darkness. She was wrapped up in blankets curled away from him. "I thought you were sleeping."

"I couldn't sleep," she sighed. "I was wondering..."

When she didn't continue, he asked, "what were you wondering, Lizzie-girl?"

Was he being sweet or condescending? Something felt off. "If the others will think me loose for spending the night," she said quietly enough he had to lean in to hear her over the rain.

He scoffed, still sore from the dressing down he'd just received, "I don't think you need to worry about losing the respect of the crew"

"What does that mean?" she asked, picking up on the edge in his voice.

"You should ask Gibbs," he said annoyed, turning away from her. He hated that they didn't trust him with her. It made his blood boil.

She didn't expect to hear the anger in his voice. "Maybe I should leave," she said sitting up. When men get angry, women get hurt.

"Where would you go?" he said.

She threw off the covers and climbed over him. He grabbed her by the arm a little harder than either of them excepted, pulling her back into the bed. He felt her flinch when he touched her.

She sat on the edge off the bed, "let me go, Jack." She didn't need to be here. She could sleep in the other room or head below deck. The storm was still raging outside. It didn't matter. She didn't want to be here.

He caressed the scar on her arm with his thumb. He softened, "l sorry, please stay," but he let go of her arm. She must already be anxious about being here and now he was scaring her. This could hardly go worse. He was going to hell.

"Why?" she asked. He'd asked her to stay so many times and she had refused him so many times it had become a game, but she'd lost track of why they were playing. It seemed inevitable that one night she would stay. She'd felt anxious about it and the longer she didn't do it the more it seemed like a big deal when she finally acquiesced. She thought she would be fending off his ardour not his anger.

"I'm sorry, if I sounded angry. It's not you," he said sitting up and kissing her shoulder. She flinched again at his touch, but softened and leaned against him.

"What are we doing, Jack?" She asked.

"Sleeping..." he said, "unless... you're not tired..."

She turned to face him. Rested her head on the crook of his neck and let him put his arms around her. "I'm tired," is what she said. I'm scared is what she meant.

He let her go and shuffled over to make room for her. She lay down next to him. He spread the blanket over them. They lay next to each other not touching. After a time he sat up, took off his vest and shirt and sash and tossed them somewhere across the room. Then settled himself back under the covers.

They lay together not touching. Not sleeping. Listening to the storm. The Pearl rocking against her moorings, with the wind and the waves.

A big gust of wind pitched the Pearl in such a way the Jack rolled against Elizabeth and he reached around to keep her from rolling off the edge of the bed. His breath in her hair, tickling the back of her neck. "Sorry," he said. He seemed to be doing a lot of apologizing.

"Don't be," her whispered reply. They settled back together, away from the edge of the bed. His arm around her waist. Her back pressed against his chest. Their hearts racing.

"Is this ok?" he whispered into her hair, pulling her closer. Mmm, she sighed, nodding and holding his hand against her belly. Her fingers interlaced with his. The storm eventually rocking them to sleep.

* * *

 _ **Yes, gentle readers I conjured a typhoon to convince Elizabeth to sleep over. Perhaps Calypso herself, unbound and wild, has a hand in bringing these two together..? They don't seem bright enough to come together on their own, though everyone else sees it.**_

 _ **Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please send feedback. Favourite, follow, review.**_


	13. Chapter 13

**_Thank to my reviewers Sleepy Lotus, River, Scarlet Woman and new reviewer kcpiratey05! Your feedback_** ** _and encouragement are most appreciated._**

 ** _Your reviews do help to shape the direction of this story and to be honest, I realized in writing this chapter you've blown me a bit off course. I'll probably have to throw in some flashbacks in the next chapter to fill in the timeline._**

 ** _Disney owns the things. I'm just borrowing their characters._**

* * *

Chp 13

She woke up disoriented. She could hear wind and rain and the rumble of rolling thunder. A man was snoring next to her. Jack Sparrow. Typhoon. Right. Her head was pillowed on his arm. She felt his warmth where her back pressed against his side.

This was the first time she'd ever shared a bed with a man. She'd slept in a hammock in a room full of snoring, flatulent pirates. She'd slept on the floor of a cell on more than one occasion with other pirates. She lay with her husband once on a beach.

She thought maybe it would be more eventful to lie with a man in his bed. She was glad in a way that it wasn't and fought that small kernel of disappointment that something more didn't happen. But she liked having Jack as a friend and she didn't want to spoil that friendship. She was only here because of the storm. Everything would go back to normal after this rain.

She wondered if this is what it was like to be an old married couple. To skip the passion of youth and be content with warmth and closeness. She wondered if this is what she could have enjoyed with Will if he was still here in this world.

She was suddenly filled with guilt. What would he think to see her like this? Lying in another man's arms. But it wasn't like that with her and Jack. Was it? They were just friends. He barely touched her.

Stop. Think about something else. Not how Jack Sparrow, handsome, charming, swashbuckling pirate lord, lying half naked against her back, might take advantage her in his bed aboard his ship. She felt herself blush down to her toes. Ohhhhh... she shifted in the bed, stretching to ease that tension from her belly to her knees. Think about something else. She should get out of this bed and get on with a normal day.

She was starving. Rum and peanuts did not make a good supper, especially after a day of hard labour. There wouldn't be work today in this kind of rain. Rain day.

She was feeling nauseous and got up to use the head. Maybe get dressed and start a fire for breakfast. The gales didn't seem to be blowing as hard this morning, though the rain was still heavy.

"Ruthy, come back to bed, luv. I'll pay extra for the morning," mumbled Jack, as a woman slipped out of his arms, leaving a cold spot in the bed.

Elizabeth froze. Did he just confuse her for one of his whores? Did he ever just spend the night sleeping next to them? She crouched next to him and whispered into his ear, "promise to make me breakfast and I'll think about it."

"Elizabeth!" he said, his eyes snapping open as he sat up.

She rocked back on her heels laughing.

"Aw, Lizzie," he said, flopping back into the bed and pulling a pillow over his head. "Shit. I am an ass. I'm so sorry," he said more to himself and the gods, than to her. Wow, he had Elizabeth Swann, err... Turner, pirate king, in his bed and he just confused her for a Ruthy Haines.

Elizabeth was sitting on the floor next to the bed in a fit of giggles. Bare legs tucked under her, wearing nothing but one of his old shirts. He would fall to his knees for this girl. If only she wanted him the same way. He checked to see that he still had his pants on. Check. So nothing happened. He held the pillow to his face embarrassed. Maybe he could suffocate.

"You are an ass, Jack," she said, making light of it. "I'm starving, you can make up for it by cooking me breakfast."

"It's too early," he said, watching her with one eye as she got up and crossed the room. "Come back to bed, darling."

But she was already in the other room gathering her clothes off the line. They were mostly dry. She dressed quickly and turned to find a shirtless Jack Sparrow smirking at her from the doorway.

"I should make you breakfast," he hummed, memorizing the lines of her body, "you could use some meat on those bones."

She threw the shirt she'd borrowed at his head, "ugh, you are an ass."

* * *

The galley and mess had been refurbished with a new brick oven and better ventilation. The room was reconfigured to make for more comfortable seating and the pantry reorganized with new cupboards and shelves.

Elizabeth entered the mess shaking the rain off the coat she borrowed to keep dry. Cotton was in the galley getting the fire started, his parrot squawked in greeting. He turned and smiled, looking her over.

"I'm fine," she said reading his mind. She walked over and kissed his cheek, "stop looking worried. Nothing happened. We slept. Jack was a perfect gentleman." Not perfectly perfect, but pretty close for a pirate.

He made her pause and look him in the eye. He squeezed her hand and patted her shoulder when he was satisfied. She hugged him back. She wasn't sure how they came to be so close. Maybe because they were both outsiders. Maybe because they were both early to rise and would volunteer to make breakfast. No matter, he felt like family.

She fetched a kettle of water and put it on the stove. She found a handful of dried fruit to snack on while he fed the fire.

"Miss. Elizabeth," sang Gibbs in greeting, "or rather, Mrs. Turner." None of them had really gotten used to calling her by her married name. She didn't seem to hold them to it.

"Good morning, Mr. Gibbs," she replied formally.

"You alright this morning, lass?" he asked. He looked her over and also at Cotton, who nodded that all was well.

"I'm fine," she sighed, amused by their concern. "You, of all people, should know I'm quite capable of taking care of myself."

Gibbs nodded. She was always a stubborn girl, even when he first met her crossing over from England. She was one to tempt fate as a child with her pirate songs. Look at her now, king of them all. An interesting twist of fate.

"The Captain has a reputation for breaking hearts," he said, almost stern in his warning. "We asked him to be careful with yours. We've become very fond of you," his voice softening, "of, well, of having you around. And it would be a shame not to have you here, but for some tiff between you and Jack."

Elizabeth was a little surprised at this admission. Gibbs was first mate, quarter master, he was the one to keep discipline on this ship. She respected him and feared him. She went to put an arm around him and kiss his cheek. He hugged her in return. "My heart isn't really his to break, is it?" she said, not because she believed it, but rather to reassure him.

"All's the more reason to fear he'll break it. Or steal it," was Gibbs whispered reply. "He is a notorious pirate after all."

* * *

It was a particularly lazy morning with the storm still raging outside. Breakfast was an informal affair. Jack made a big pot of boiled eggs, some for eating, others for pickling later. Cotton made porridge, because he always made porridge. Pintel ground up beans for a fresh pot of coffee. Gibbs put a pot of beans and a ham bone to simmer away for supper.

Elizabeth conscripted Marty and Ragetti to help make noodles, which she'd learned to make while on the Empress. It was a simple recipe. One scoop of flour and a pinch of salt for every serving. Enough water to mix it into a stiff dough. Knead until smooth. Let rest. Roll as thin as possible. Cut into strips.

Wheat flour was a treat on Shipwreck island as it hadn't the climate or soil or topography that was conducive to grain farming. They did grow some grain, but not in the quantities required to sustain the amount of grain common to a continental diet, whether wheat, corn or rice. This flour was procured from the plunder of a recently returned pirate ship.

Gibbs noticed Elizabeth favouring her right arm, as she instructed Marty and Ragetti on the kneading. "Something wrong with your arm, lass?" he asked.

"Oh," she said, rubbing her wrist, "it's nothing. I strained it at work the other day. It doesn't really bother me unless I use it too much. I just try to rest it when I can."

Gibbs tsked at her, "you work too hard."

"Well," she said, pausing in her kneading, "there's no one to look after me now. I have to work while there's work to be done."

They all felt little ashamed to hear those words from her. How far she had fallen from a pampered upbringing to working herself to the bone to pay her own way. And she never voiced a word of complaint. Perhaps they all felt a little responsible for her situation.

"You could join our crew," said Jack. "We look after each other, don't we lads? We'd look after you too."

She shook her head. "I'm already taking advantage of meals here," she said sheepishly. "Besides I don't think I would be much help with renovations, deconstruction doesn't take as much skill as construction."

"We'd show you the ropes," said Marty. "You're a quick study."

"They're working you too hard, girl," said Gibbs.

She shook her head again, "they paid me well. Two lump sums already for my share and helping to sell the plunder. Now that the Empress has set sail, it's a generous stipend until the ship is dismantled. If it was piece work I could set my own pace, but as it is, I need to keep up with the men or they'll not have me."

"Not much of a pirate if you're working to make an honest living," said Jack. Really, he was quite proud of her, but didn't like how she made him feel like maybe he wasn't good enough for her. Like she didn't need him. "What do you need the money for anyway, if you're sailing with us?"

"I didn't ask for this. Helping you is what branded me as a pirate," she scoffed, but gave him a smile when she saw him frown. "There's nought wrong with earning my own way with honest hard work," she added in her own defence. "Besides, you all know I don't plan to sail with you."

They'd heard it before, but it didn't make it any less disappointing to hear again. They all hoped she would stick with them, especially after the Empress left without her aboard. Who else did she have left in the world? It didn't make sense for her to be on her own.

"Don't look so surprised," she said, "you know I don't want to go back to the Caribbean." Her stomach churned just thinking about it. She would rather be anywhere else in the world. Perhaps Jack could understand her aversion to heading back to her childhood home, he so hated it here.

"I'm excited to start anew somewhere and I like it here," she said. "I'm on my own now and I have to think about my own interests. I've already paid for 6 months of rent in advance."

"If anyone is smart enough and stubborn enough to make it on their own it's you," said Gibbs, still concerned about the way she was favouring that wrist. She was a smart one that Elizabeth Swann was, he never doubted that about her. She had run her father's house since she was old enough to learn her numbers so she knew the cost of running a house. Still, it must be a little frightening to be out all on her own.

"Are you really going to stay here?" asked Jack incredulous. "I can't stand this place."

"It's an adventure for me," she shrugged. She sat and cleaned her hands with a damp cloth while the dough rested. "I've already made some friends around the Inn. They're taking me to the hot springs next week. Perhaps when my job is done I'll have more time to do some exploring."

"You're working too hard," said Gibbs sternly, taking her right arm and watching her wince, "and I'm not one to criticize hard work." He pressed lightly along the length of her arm until her flinching gave away the sore spot. "You should bind this before you make it worse," he said.

"It's really not that bad," she protested, as Gibbs and Cotton fussed around her. Gibbs bound her wrist firmly, from her palm to pirate brand, with cloth strips and a light wooden splint that Cotton brought to him. "How am I supposed to work with my arm bound like this?" she cried.

"That's the point, lass, stop working, let your arm heal up before you wreck it for good and you're not able work at all," he said. "Stay off it for a few days."

She pouted looking at her arm. Damn. He was right. It didn't really bothering her unless she was using it, but it had also been several days and wasn't getting better. A permanent injury could really ruin her future. At least today was a rain day. She wasn't missing anything today, but she was loathe to miss a day of work.

* * *

Jack gave the men a tutorial on chopsticks. Growing up in Shipwreck City, as cosmopolitan as it was and heavily influenced by Asia, eating with chopsticks was pretty normal among it's residents. After a few comical attempts most just opted for cutting up the stands and eating them with a spoon or slurping their noodles straight from the bowl. Soup noodles aboard a swaying ship was a delicious, though messy affair.

"What's so bad about Tortuga?" asked Jack. He was sitting next to Elizabeth scarfing down a bowl of noodle soup. Perfect comfort food on a stormy day. Their boots touching under the table, as was their habit.

"It's not Tortuga," she said. "It's just," she sighed, "I don't want anyone to see me like this. Not anyone I knew from my old life." She was feeling frustrated and just a little sorry for herself. She was having a hard time eating with her left hand. Her arm hurt. She needed some new clothes, these were not holding up well with the wear and tear of her new job.

She watched him eat his meal deftly with a pair of sticks. He always managed to surprise her. She was glad that he enjoyed this special treat. A far cry from the treats and presents she used to get in Port Royal. "Do you know what they - what we were like if you didn't keep up with the latest fashions? I don't even own a dress anymore."

"We can buy you a dress, if that's all that's holding you back," he smiled, polishing off his second bowl of noodles.

"It's not just that," she struggled with what to say, "I don't know how to reconcile my new life with my old one. I'm not unhappy, but they wouldn't understand. Savvy?"

He smiled at her use of his phrase. "Aye, savvy," he said, as he watched her wrestle with a particularly slippery noodle.

"I don't know how I'd about feel seeing old friends. All of them probably married with babies," she felt the tears welling up. What could she feel but grief and jealousy for what could have been her life, and resentment for having it taken from her? She sniffed and swallowed the lump in her throat, "I suppose it's not my fate to be kept and coddled."

"Do you want to be?" he asked. He never thought of her as the type to settle down and have babies. Maybe that's the only path that was ever presented to her.

She shook her head, "maybe not. I like to feel like I can take care of myself." She looked at her bowl and the binding on her arm. She chucked ruefully, "I can barely feed myself, today."

Jack picked up a noodle with his chopsticks and held it to her mouth. She took it between her lips and slurped it, flicking broth on both of them. He laughed wiping soup off his face. "It's not so bad having someone look out for you, is it?" He picked up another noodle to feed her.

"I suppose it's tolerable under certain circumstances," she said with a smile.

* * *

He cornered her in the pantry. Playing with fire. Tempting fate. Maybe that just made it more exciting. He had her up against the hull. Her arms around his neck. He had opened up her shirt enough to kiss her collar bones. She was sighing in his ear. His hands wandered down to her hips. His thigh between her legs.

"Stop," she gasped. He paused to look her in the eye, his own dark and slightly unfocused. He kissed her lips and felt her melt under his touch. Her lips parting as her tongue begged for entry, he obliged. His hands sliding up under her shirt. Hands circling her waist, tracing the bottom of her rib cage. She tensed and trembled under his touch. Her kisses deep and desperate. Hips rocking with the rhythm of the ship. Her heart racing when she heard him moan.

She came up for air and disengaged. "Stop," she said and pushed him away. She'd never felt so aroused. He could feel her hot and wet against his thigh. She thought she might burst. "Stop," she said crying, "what are we doing?" She leaned her head against his shoulder and let him hold her.

"Just a bit of fun on a rainy afternoon," he whispered. He kissed her hair.

"No," she said, catching her breath, "it's wrong. I'm married."

"Your husband is dead," he said, smoothing her hair gently. "You've had over a month of mourning."

"My husband is not so dead that he isn't coming back in ten years," she said. "Davy Jones cut out his heart when he thought himself a jilted lover. My husband could throw you back into the locker." He could put both of us in the locker, she thought, though my fate might be less kind. They don't call it rape if it's your husband forcing himself on you. Oh god, is that how she thought of Will now?

"You husband doesn't need to know about our tryst," he whispered.

"Is that what this is?" she said.

"I'm not asking you for any commitment," he said. "You don't plan to sail with us." He wiped a tear gently from her cheek. "What is it you want, darling?" his voice tender.

She was confused. She shook her head. "I don't know," she said, "not this." She needed to get away from him. She needed to clear her head. She walked out of the pantry. She walked out of the mess past all the men. She walked onto the deck where it was still raining.

All the men turned to glare at Jack. "What did you do?" asked Gibbs.

"Obviously, the wrong thing," he said storming out the door. They thought he was going after her, but heard him stomping around and slamming doors in his cabin.

Cotton threw on his coat and went after her. She'd walked off the Pearl on to the dock. Cotton caught up to her in the downpour. She stood in the rain and cried on his shoulder.

He walked her to the Inn. She kissed his cheek good bye. She went up to her room alone, stripped off her wet clothes, tucked herself in bed and cried herself to sleep.

* * *

 _ **Woo... Steamy. Sorry if that didn't end they way you wanted. I was really debating if the make out scene was too soon or how far they should go, but with all the flirting that's been going on, I figured it was time.**_

 ** _Please favourite, follow and review. I love getting your comments :)_**


	14. Chapter 14

**_Oh all you readers pushing for a little actions between our Lizzie and Jack. It was too soon, I realized after writing those last two chapters. It wrecked the line I was working on and so it took me longer than I thought it would to put the story back on track, but I think I'm good. Hopefully this chapter makes sense to all of you._**

 ** _Most everything important belongs to Disney, though we are getting pretty far from cannon and I've got quite a few original characters here (one of the reasons why this took so long to write... I find with OCs I write reams of small talk to get a feel for the characters then delete it all because I realize it's really boring and nothing has happened to move the story forward). I've also paraphrased a few songs including something from Joni Mitchell, Lauren Hill and Nellie Furtado - thanks for the inspiration ladies!_**

 ** _Thank you to all my reviewers: kcpiratey05, River, Sleepy Lotus, Scarlet woman & new reviewers sowhat730 and guest. Extra special thanks to Sleepy Lotus for the shoutout on her tumblr!_**

* * *

Chp 14

He could smell him before he saw him. Gibbs was sitting in the dark smoking his pipe. The rest of the crew already turned in for the night.

"I knew you'd come down eventually," said the old man, gesturing to the new racks they had built to store their rum. "We drank all of your stash last night and you're not one to stay sober when there's something eating away at you." He passed Jack a mug.

He took a swig and sat down, "I don't understand women." He'd been turning over the events of the afternoon in his head while ran sacking his cabin for a drop of rum. He needed a stiff drink to help him think. Or not think. Either way, he needed a drink.

"You should talk to her," said Gibbs.

"I don't think she wants to see me," said Jack. "What would I say?"

"Apologize," said Gibbs.

"What did I do wrong?" he asked more to himself than anyone else.

"Doesn't matter," said Gibbs. "If you want her back just apologize. Grovel. Beg."

"Yes, thank you," said Jack testily. "I get the general premise."

"I'm not sure you do, Jack," said Giibs. "You've been a pirate so long, you're used to taking without asking."

"I didn't 'take' anything she wasn't willing to give," said Jack angry now. Yes, they were pirates. Yes, they had all taken things without asking. Yes, that sometimes included women when they were less than willing. But that's not what happened, he was sure of it. She wanted it. She wanted him. He drained his mug and filled it again from the barrel.

Gibbs frowned at him with a mix of frustration and concern. He didn't know what passed between them, but they all saw her when she fled the ship. Something upset her and that something was Jack Sparrow. "Whatever happened, I don't care what it was, she deserves better and you know it."

Jack was not expecting relationship advice from the old bachelor. They sat in silence for a bit. Drinking. Smoking. Listening to the rain. He was glad it was dark enough to hide his tears. He could blame the smoke as he rubbed his eye with a clean knuckle.

Jack was brooding. How should this play out? He was schemer, a master planner. Most of his plans worked out most of the time, be it through smarts or blind luck. But it seemed his luck, or his smarts, had run out and he didn't know what his next step should be.

What did he want? Of course he wanted her back. He wanted more of her, all of her. It was never his plan to scare her off. But now that she was gone, he didn't know how to avoid this situation again. He was feeling confused and broken hearted.

Gibbs sighed and got up, "well, whatever you decide is whatever you decide. My advice? Don't let her go because it would be the easy thing to do. Don't run away like you always do. Go find her and make things right. I care about Elizabeth, that I think I've made clear, but I care about you too, lad. It would be a shame to see you run from this lass." He walked away, leaving Jack to sit alone in the dark to finish his drink.

* * *

A sound by the window startled her out of her half-sleep in the morning. She was falling into that dark lonely place that was never far from her mind. That place of despair that almost swallowed her up just over a month ago.

Peeking out from under the covers, she could see it was that old tomcat. He had come around before, but this was the first time he had let himself into her room. She often saw him around the inn; circling Esmeralda's legs or hanging out by the kitchen until the cook shooed him away.

The rain must have stopped. He shook out his long fluffy orange mane and sat across the room, affixing her with his strange orange eyes, while he cleaned himself.

When he was done licking his genitals he crossed the room and hopped onto her bed. He head butted her until she relented and scratched him behind the ears. She rolled onto her back so that she had both hands free to pet him, though it was a bit awkward with her wrist bound in a splint. He settled himself on her chest purring.

"You're just like Jack, aren't you?" she said, running her fingers through soft fur, "exposing yourself to me and then wanting to cuddle in the bed."

She was petting him, and with every stroke he purred. He rubbed his head on her arm and snuggled into her, luxuriating in her attention.

She would normally be on her way to the docks by now, but was feeling sick and lazy. She couldn't bear the thought of getting out of bed. She didn't want to face the day. She didn't want to face him.

She didn't want to disturb the cat, so comfortably purring, with his head resting between her breasts. She wonder if she was destined to be alone with only cats for comfort and company. It wasn't such a terrible fate. Someone (some cat?) there to help warm the bed. She was filled with a deep aching loneliness.

She recalled playing with kittens in her uncle's barn. Her cousins having left her alone while they went off to play with their friends. _You're too little. You're too stupid. You're to ugly_ , they crowed before they left. She didn't mind it then. The cats were better company.

But now? The weight and warmth of a cat was not enough to satisfy. She wanted a man. One man in particular, who had a feline grace to him. She sighed. Her mind drifting to that man who had her fully roused as he pinned her against the pantry wall. She could still hear the shuddering rattle of jars that might alert the crew to their activities.

Part of her wanted to get caught with his hand up her shirt and her tongue in his mouth. Perhaps if someone else witnessed it she wouldn't be able to pretend it never happened. Isn't that what she wanted? To pretend that nothing had passed between them? To go back to the easy friendship they had before giving into each other's carnal desires?

What is it you want, darling? She could feel him caress her tear stained cheek. Her heart racing. Ghost fingers leaving their tingling traces as she closed her eyes and bit her lip at the memory of it.

What had her so spooked? Was it really concern that Will might fly into a jealous rage? Maybe she was afraid to love, because all the men who dared to loved her died. Maybe she was afraid of having her heart broken - again. Maybe she just needed assurances. Some kind of commitment or deposit or insurance that would hold better than a promise that could be broken by circumstances.

After a time the cat got up, shaking her out of her thoughts. He stretched and hopped off the bed. He crossed the room and sat staring at the door. Elizabeth lay on her side under the covers watching him. He turned and stared at her. He stared at the door.

"Ah," she said, "now that you have what you want from me, you can't wait to get away." She couldn't help but think Jack might do the same. He was one to crave the chase. Would he still care for her company after she gave in to his desires? Or her own?

 _Mmmmerrraow_ was his disdainful response. She got up. Let him out. Once again she was alone.

* * *

The storm had blown through by morning. It was bright and cold outside. Jack surveyed the Pearl for any damage they may have sustained with the wind and rain but more particularly what debris might have struck the ship when the gales did blow.

He wouldn't be particularly sad if there was more damage. They had access to materials and budget wasn't really an issue as long as Teague and Ching were feeling generous. He had taken the opportunity to makes some upgrades to the Pearl. She was looking tight and trim.

He didn't really want to admit it, but he was delaying their departure in the hopes of convincing Lizzie to join them. Or at least spending more time with her while she was here.

The crew didn't seem to mind. The pace of their work was leisurely at best. They rarely saw the Captain in such good spirits for such an extended time. They didn't have much money to really enjoy the many comforts available on shore, but some found time to pick up piece work with other ships in order to have some spending money. Life was easy, for now, but they knew soon enough that they would be setting sail.

Jack found an excuse to stay on deck that day, while the men cleaned up from the storm. He was hoping to catch a glimpse of her on the docks. He would be disappointed.

* * *

She stood in front of a full length mirror admiring herself in a red sari. She had never worn one before and had not expected to try one today. She imagined Jack Sparrow unpleating this dress with one swift pull. She hugged herself remembering the feel of his rough hands slipping under her shirt to circle her waist.

No work today. Her arm needed rest. She needed to catch up on errands. She was feeling run down. She was not taking very good care of herself lately and it was catching up with her. But mostly she was looking for excuses to avoid the docks.

She went to the dress shop to get some new work clothes and perhaps have something pretty made from her bolt of red calico. She wasn't yet ready to do anything with the blue silk. Neema measured her for a work shirt and pants, to be ready in about two weeks.

Sri Sumbhajee's daughter in laws were also in the shop trying on dresses. They were admiring Elizabeth's calico and insisted that she try wearing it as a sari rather than cut it up to make a dress. They unfurled it and we're delighted to see that it was about the right width and length. They rushed about the store in giggles looking for a matching petticoat and choli. They ignored Elizabeth's weak protests as they dressed her up like a doll. Braiding her hair and bedecking her with ribbons in place of jewelry.

They buzzed about the store half dressed looking for new fashions and pretty baubles. Their enthusiasm was so infectious that Elizabeth found herself joining them in their hunt. Helping to lace them into the stays and corsets they weren't familiar with. They were looking for outfits that they wouldn't be able to find so easily when they returned to India in a week. European hoop skirts, Chinese silks. They dressed themselves and Elizabeth in jingling hip scarves and taught her a sultry shimmying, undulating dance that left little to the imagination. Shipwreck City was a true melting pot of culture and fashion.

Soon enough their search turned to more intimate items that only their husbands would have the pleasure of seeing them in. Diaphanous night gowns, breast bands, halter tops, silk drawers. Lace, beads and embroidery covering just enough of the female form to provide some measure of modesty or at least a nod to mystique.

Elizabeth had once owned such tittilating lacy underthings. She could imagine them laid out on her bed the morning of her wedding in Port Royal. She never had the chance to wear them for anyone. It was so long ago and so much had happened since then, she felt it must have been a dream.

She watch these two young women, about her age, looking for outfits that would please their husbands. Elizabeth couldn't afford such finery now. Besides, it would be ten years before she could wear such things for Will. Such fine things would be wasted on her. It broke her vain girlish heart to think that. She chided herself for being so shallow.

Neema noticed the enthusiasm leave Elizabeth, as the girls swooned about the things their husbands might do with them in various states of undress. A silly juvenile pantomime, but one that seemed to cut a little too close to someone who had just been widowed. Elizabeth stood misty eyed watching them, wondering what could have been. Worse, it made her wonder what could be, as that scoundrel pirate kept sneaking into her thoughts.

"Come to the other room," said Neema, with a gentle hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "I've made some tea."

Elizabeth was grateful for the break. She sat at the counter and poured for both of them. "Did you ever remarry after you lost your husband?" she asked shyly, remembering Neema's offer to chat the first time she had come to the store.

"No," Neema shook her head. "My husband was a good man. But good men are hard to find on an island where pirates come to lick their wounds." She sipped her tea, "besides, I can earn my own way here, so I never really felt the need to marry again."

"I'd known Will since we were children. I always thought we might marry. I didn't expect our marriage to last only for as long as it will take for me to finish this cup of tea," said Elizabeth taking a sip.

"I held him while he died," Elizabeth continued, choking back tears, "but he came back to me." The men she love both died and they both came back. It made her feel sick. What was wrong with her that she be cursed with lovers that had come back from the dead? "He will come again in ten years," she said, ten lonely years was her penance to see him again, her heart filled with guilt. "I don't know how I'll survive it."

"It need not be lonely," said Neema, reading her thoughts. "My husband was on the crew of the Black Pearl when he died. I was devastated when I found out. I hadn't seen him in months. I went into seclusion."

Neema paused, wondering how much of her past she wanted to she with this girl. Better she know the truth. "It was Jack Sparrow who pulled me out of my depression. I know what it feels like to have Jack Sparrow seek me out. It was a balm on my soul," she said the words like a prayer. But her tone changed when she added, "he called it a tryst."

Elizabeth almost dropped her tea cup, her hand shook so much as she put it down. A tryst. Had Jack slept with every woman on the island? Was she a fool to fall for him? She felt used. Is this what Jack did? Seek out vulnerable women to take advantage of?

"I never thought I would be unfaithful to my husband," Neema continued. "But I realized that laying with a man to fulfil my own desires need not count against the love I had for him. I could honour him in other ways. I make sure his children know who he was. I make them write letters to his mother."

Elizabeth tried to think of ways to honour Will. She wondered again if she might be pregnant. How easily would his memory fade if there was nothing tying him to this world? She hugged her belly.

"Shipwreck City is a woman's world most of the time," said Neema. "The men are out to sea. We can make our own life here and not depend on them. I can take a lover when I choose, but I can also leave him when I choose, because I pay my own way."

This was all a bit overwhelming for Elizabeth. It made sense, there was no need for Neema to remarry for financial stability, if she was able to run this store and earn her own keep. To think of herself as something other than the property of a man, her father, her husband, was revolutionary. But Elizabeth was already living this life. She was already paying her own way. She had already chosen no to take the easy route and be coddled on the Pearl. She needed to stop feeling badly about it. Would she be able to do the same with her feelings for Jack and his trysts?

"Don't be angry with Jack if he is the one that makes you melt inside," said Neema, guessing Elizabeth's thoughts. "I know that feeling. I see how you catch glances at each other when you think no one is looking."

Elizabeth blushed. How many people could see through her? For a moment, her stubborn nature strengthened her resolve to keep Jack at arms length and stay faithful to Will. But for what? Cried another voice inside her, the one that wanted nothing more than to wear a pretty dress and watch slack-jawed men fall to their knees as she walked past.

"Jack has his devils, but he also has his deeds. He's not a bad man, but if you go to him, be prepared to bleed. He is not an easy man to be with if you're looking for commitment. That Sparrow is not one to be caged. He always flies away. But he can also make you feel like you can fly," Neema's voice drifted off in wistful memory of it.

He always leaves. She thought of that old tomcat waiting by her door. But Jack had not left her. She was the one who left him manacled to the Pearl. She left him standing alone in the pantry. She was the one to flee.

"You need to decide for yourself what is right for you," said Neema. "The women who used to own this store, my mentor, would always say 'How are you going to win if you're not right within?' Make right with your own demons first and everything else will fall into place as it should."

It was true that everyone had their demons. Especially anyone who arrived some way some how on Shipwreck Island. It was not the kind of place that people traveled to without facing some trauma. Elizabeth had her share of demons. Perhaps Neema was right, it wasn't Jack, but rather her own demons that had her running.

Neema finished her tea and got up. "I best see what those two silly girls are up to before they tear the place apart," she said excusing herself.

* * *

"Jack Sparrow," called Ruth, spotting the sullen Captain drinking alone in a dark corner. "I mean _Captain_ Jack Sparrow," she added as the women with her giggled.

Ruth and Aliya pulled up chairs to join him. Effie decided to join him in his seat. He was a fine looking man - better looking under those old clothes, and paid well when he had the money. And when he didn't have the money, well, he was known to be generous in other ways. She had an itch that needed to be scratched and wanted to claim him tonight if he was in the mood. Though lately he seemed more interested in drinking than other night time activities. Perhaps that skinny chit he spent so much time with was more of a tart than she would admit to. There was a rumour that she had bedded the crew of the Empress, though they denied it.

"Drinking alone again, Captain?" asked Effie, knowing the title sometimes put him in a better mood. She sat in his lap with one arm draped around his neck and the other hand on his chest fiddling with the collar of his shirt. She leaned in to display her bosom in its most flattering angle. She was quite pleased with how this new gown showed off her assets. "If you like, I could make your evening less lonely," her throaty whisper in his ear, her lips almost close enough to taste the salt of his sweat.

Effie was one of Shipwreck's lost girls. She was new since Jack was last here. Most every woman not born on the island had a tale of woe. Some came as wives or widows. Most were destined to be sold as slaves, to work in the fields of the new world, to work in brothels, to comfort a ship full of lonely men. Lives destined for hardship and heartbreak were given a glimmer of hope on this island. While life was not easy here, at least they were treated, in many ways, as equal to men with respect to opportunities for work, pay, and property ownership. Here they had real options and given a choice to stay or go, work or find a protector, each in her own way, on her own terms.

He never asked her how she got here, but knew that she worked in Ching's brothel most of the time and at the Mermaid some of the time. She was young. Ambitious. A survivor.

He came here to get away from the crew and was half in the bag when they found him. He could take this one, that was nuzzling into him, upstairs for pennies and have his way with her. But she was no substitute for the woman on his mind. "Not really in the mood tonight, darling," he said gently, removing her from his lap. Effie frowned, humiliated.

"Pirate King, filling your mind, but not your bed?" asked Ruth smiling. Only she could push his buttons and not be reprimanded. The women tittered. "Not every woman falls under your spell, Jack. You should bring her around sometime. It's like you're ashamed to introduce us. We could spark a little jealousy that could help your cause."

"It's not like she doesn't know where you go at night," said Aliya.

"She does keep to herself though, doesn't she?" said Ruth.

"Hardly," said Effie, pouting, "she's always on the docks working with the men. Proper, I suppose since she dresses like one."

"Who's jealous now?" said Aliya to Effie. There were all kinds of rumours surrounding Jack and Elizabeth's relationship, especially among the prostitutes. It was a small town, gossip spread quickly. What else did they have to entertain them on a slow night?

"Why should I be jealous of her?" scoffed Effie, "she's flat as a board and acts like a man. I've never even seen her in a dress. I expected she'll grow a beard next. Jack's daft for seeking her favour." Jack glared at her. She blushed and left in a huff, finding a burly pirate across the room who could better appreciate her talents.

"Excuse her," said Aliya. "She's young and doesn't think before she speaks. I met your Elizabeth once at the apothecary. She was getting ginger for an upset stomach. I was getting... we'll never you mind," she blushed. "She seemed nice enough. Pretty, despite what Effie might say, though there was something sad about her.

"You should bring her by, Jack," said Ruth. "We'll be nice, we promise. Poor girl could probably use some more women in her life."

Jack shrugged and drank his rum. "It's her choice not to come. Coming or going, the choice is always hers." Kiss and run. Who knew swans could be so flighty? He closed his eyes and imagined sliding his hands up her sides and planting kisses down her neck. She would only fly away, he thought bitterly, she always did.

"Ahhhh," said Ruth, "so this time she's left you and you're disappointed that you only have us for company..?" His dark face darken further and a scowl grew on his face. "Oh Jack, you are a coward. Too afraid to go after her even though she has hold of your heart? You were always one to run away."

"What do you know of it," scoffed Jack, annoyed because he knew full well that she knew plenty about it. Maybe the fact the Lizzie was the one to leave him was what kept him chasing her.

Ruth rolled her eyes and laughed, "love is a scary thing isn't it? More frightening than a giant sea monster or a hangman's noose."

* * *

Pintel and Ragetti were sitting in the square outside the Inn waiting for her. It had been a few days since she left without a word of good bye. They missed having her around in the evenings. They all did, especially the Captain, though he would be the last to admit it.

"Do you think she'll come back?" asked Ragetti looking around with his one eye. "To the crew, I mean."

"I don't know. Poor poppet. Wonder what stupid thing the captain did to scare her away," Pintel was chewing on a hangnail and squinting at the afternoon sun. It was nice to dry out from all the rain. Any damage from the storm had been cleaned up and the town was looking fresh and new.

Marty joined them. He brought a sack of peanuts to snack on. Gibbs came with his flask that they passed around. Cotton and his parrot were the last to come. Cotton had taken this turn of events quite hard. He'd been giving the Captain the silent treatment, which you wouldn't think would be effective, he being a mute, but his destain was so palpable, everyone aboard felt it.

Elizabeth was not expecting to be greeted by the crew when she return from the dress shop. It was a new job. Didn't pay nearly as well as her job with the Chinese, but she needed new clothes, this was an exchange for her services not cash.

Thus far her pay was the simple one piece dress that she wore now. It was a cream coloured cotton that buttoned in the front, so she wouldn't need help lacing into it and a thick red sash made from her calico. Thus far her work included running errands, minding children, helping women into their new dresses, making tea and other duties as assigned. It was easier on her arm and she enjoyed Neema's company. And it kept her away from the docks.

She stopped when she saw the crew in the square. They were all there. The whole rag tag gang. Everyone but Jack. She didn't know what to do, but her feet didn't want to move. She felt her heart racing. He didn't come for her. But everyone else did. She'd left in such a hurry. What must they think?

Ragetti was the first to spot her, with his one eye scanning the square. He almost didn't recognize her in a dress with her hair pinned up. "Miss. Elizabeth," he cried, grinning as he waved his arms at her.

The whole crew turned. Their smiling faces a mix of relief and concern. Elizabeth thought she might burst into tears as they came to greet her. "We missed you," they said. "You look good," they said. They didn't say, when will you come back? Though they all thought it.

"I missed you too," she said, hugging each one of them in turn. She didn't ask, where's Jack? Or How's the Captain doing? Or does he miss me? Though it was all she could think of while she accepted their kisses and pats on the back.

"How sweet of you to come see me," she added, smiling as she swiped at her eyes with the back of her hand, a little overcome with emotion. "Please, do come in, for dinner, my treat."

They protested weakly. "We couldn't lass," they said. "We just came to see how you're doing." "We didn't mean for you to invite us for dinner." Though they knew she knew their were all hard up for cash and would love nothing less than a proper sit down dinner at the Inn.

"I insist that you be my guests tonight," she said. "Please, you've all been so good to me. I'll be insulted if you don't accept." They relented as she ushered them into the Inn. She asked Esmeralda to take care of them, while she went upstairs to freshen up, promising she would be back soon to join them.

Alone in her room, she let herself shed a tear and catch her breath. She wanted so badly to ask about Jack. She wanted to know how he was doing. She wondered if he felt the same desire to see her, but not see her, as she did him.

She had spied him through the window of the Mermaid the other night and thought to join him, but a woman came and draped herself in his lap and Elizabeth lost her nerve. Instead, she rushed home to enjoy the company of that tomcat, who had taken to sleeping in her bed most nights.

She washed her face. Checked her hair. Fixed her sash. She took a moment to line her eyes with kohl. Makeup was not really something she wore most days, but she had stolen some kohl from Jack's cabin not long ago and had taken to wearing it sometimes when she was missing him. Satisfied with how she looked, she went downstairs and tried not to feel disappointed about someone missing from the table. No one to press their foot against hers under the table. No one to sneak their arm around her while stretching or reaching for something behind her.

She was pleased to see that they had ordered pitchers of beer and grog. There was bread on the table soon to be joined by a large pot of fish chowder.

"How's the arm?" asked Gibbs. He was please to see that she was still wearing the splint.

"It's much better I think," she said. "I haven't been working with the Chinese these last few days to stay off it."

She told them about her new job and how she'd been spending her days. They told her about cleaning up from the storm and starting work on a new set of sails. Once those were done they would be casting off. Teague would he cutting them off on the next new moon, just over a fortnight away. Jack was already working on recruiting a crew. Elizabeth's heart sank a little with that news.

They didn't ask if she would join them, though they all wanted to. They'd already asked so many time and now with this most recent turn of events it was even more unlikely that she would come. Besides, it was Jack's call, he should be the one to ask her - or she him. He didn't know they were here. He never asked where they were all going and they hadn't invited him.

They wanted Elizabeth to know, whatever it was between her and the Captain, that there were no hard feelings with them. But they also had to earn a living and work on the docks would dry up soon. They would have to sail, if not with Jack, with someone else. As much as they were loyal to her, he was still a good captain, they all planned to leave with the Pearl.

She understood, of course. She never blamed them for her predicament, nor did she expect them to take sides. She certainly didn't think they would take her side if push came to shove, which made this visit all the more sweet. A lot of what could have been said was left unsaid. But they knew that they were square.

After dinner Cotton pulled out her book, its pages crinkled from the damp sea spray and stained by dirty fingers. All of those marks were memories of reading on the deck of the Pearl with Captain Sparrow at her side. She swallowed her sadness and took the book. "Shall we read a chapter for old times sake?" she asked.

She opened the book to the tale of Sinbad the sailor and began to read. The crew leaning in, not wanting to miss a word. Other patrons: hardened seadogs, families with children, even the staff, gathered around to listen.

Jack Sparrow had come to the Inn to find her. He was tired of this stand off and he needed to see her. But he could see through the window that she was reading to a rapt crowd. His crew gathered at her table. Small children clinging to her chair. He lost his nerve and walked away.

* * *

 ** _Sorry to disappoint any of you hoping that they'd just make up and live happily ever after. I spent two weeks trying to figure out how to write something other than that! It didn't feel right for our bull headed star crossed lovers. That would be too easy. Love is never that easy. It's awkward and heartbreaking and there's misunderstanding and pride and everything else that gets in the way._**

 ** _Trust me, I have a long plan, we are still in part 1 of the story. At this time it looks like there will be 3 or 4 parts to the tale - though how many chapters it will take to tell each part? I have no idea. Could be 1 chapter, could be 20. But I'm glad to have you join me on this journey._**

 ** _Please follow, favourite and review!_**


	15. Chapter 15

**_Dear gentle readers,_**

 ** _Sorry that updates are taking longer these days. Things are really busy at work and I'm biking these days, which means no writing during my commute._**

 ** _This chapter was going to be a little throw away intro. I've started writing a couple other sections but they weren't really going anywhere. And this bit was wanting more attention. So I thought, why fight it? And beefed up this section with some more tittilating details - hopefully still T rated, but if you disagree let me know._**

 ** _Thanks to my reviewers kcpiratey05, sleepy lotus, scarlet woman and river. Glad you're still enjoying the ride._**

 ** _Disney owns the things. Musical inspiration for this chapter include more Joni Mitchell (A Case of You - such a great song) and a little Arcade Fire (my body is a cage... I think my reference here is a little clunky, but I liked the sentiment, so I shoehorned it in.)_**

* * *

Chp 15

Her room was small and spartan. Dressing table. Chair. Mirror. Small chest where she kept her clothes and other personal items. He hadn't been here since that day he found out she'd been branded a pirate. He wasn't really sure why he was here now.

She had always come to him. He liked it when she came to him. Except these last few days she hadn't come at all. She hadn't even come to the docks. Not since that afternoon after the storm. Not since she ran away.

He didn't want to admit that he missed her. He certainly didn't want to admit that his actions were to blame for her leaving. He would rather blame her or her dead whelp husband for her flightiness. Maybe being in her room, among her things, helped him to miss her less. Maybe he hoped to talk to her alone. She had him all turned around and off his game.

By the light of an almost full moon, he noticed something familiar on her dressing table. It was his kohl pot. Well, one of them. He was a bit of a collector. This one was from Morocco. He picked it up and turned it over in his hand. When did she take this? Pirate, he thought with a smile.

The door unlocked and opened. She was standing with a candle in her hand. She wore a simple dress and had her hair pinned up. She looked like an angel. So beautiful she took his breath away.

"Jack," she gasped, surprised to see him sitting at her dressing table.

"Lizzie," he said getting up to kiss her cheek, as had become their greeting.

"What are you doing in my room?" she asked, still standing in the hallway, backing away, her hackles raised.

"You've been avoiding me," he said, a little surprised at her reaction to his presence. She looked scared or angry. Maybe both. This wasn't supposed to be going this way. "I wanted to see you."

"So you broke into my room?!" she said incredulous. "How did you get in? Did you sneak in through the window, like that old tomcat?!"

Angry. Definitely angry. "Did you steal this from my cabin, pirate-lass" he said gently, a term of endearment, a mischievous grin, holding up the kohl pot in an attempt to change the conversation. He wasn't unhappy that she had stolen from him. He was a little tickled that she would take something of his. Something as intimate and defining of him as this pot of kohl.

"Why are you here?" She couldn't believe he broke into her room. She was shaking. She felt violated.

Tactic to change conversation failed. Lizzie still livid. He hushed her. "It's just me Lizzie," he said softly, reaching out to caress her. He wanted to hold her close. Feel her heartbeat. Feel her purr under his touch.

"What's wrong with you?!" she hissed, swatting his hand away. "What are you doing in my room? Do you have any respect for me?"

His face fell. All the bravado gone from his stance. He looked hurt. He looked lost. "Lizzie darling," he cooed, apologetic in his tone, but not an apology.

She turned away from him and leaned against the doorframe. "I miss you, Jack," she sighed, "but I don't trust you." Nor do I trust myself around you, she thought. "And then you go and break into my room?" What was he thinking? That he would leap out of the shadows and seduce her? That she hadn't talked to him in days, but would swoon at the sight of him and invite him into her bed? She shook her head, "just go. I'm tired. I can't do this right now."

She missed him. A spark of hope to fuel his swagger. "Lizzie," he said, "why'd you run off?" He blew out the candle in her hand and placed it on her dresser. She hissed as hot wax dripped on her hand. He peeled the wax off and kissed her where it had burned. "Can't we talk?" he asked, his lips brushing the back of her hand.

"Stop it." She pulled her hand out of his grasp. "Not here, Jack. Not now," she said. Her arms were crossed and she stared at the floor, refusing to meet his eyes. "Not with you breaking into my room in the dead of night. Show me a little respect."

"I'm sorry," he whispered in her ear. His heart was racing. He leaned against the wall next to her. Gibbs advice ringing in his ears. He was not good at this. Asking forgiveness was not something he ever did. Running away was more his style. "I didn't mean to make things worse. I'm not good at this. Don't be angry with me, Lizzie."

"Fine," she said quietly, arms still crossed. At least he said he was sorry. He was standing too close. She flinched when his shoulder brushed against hers.

He leaned his head against her and kissed her hair. His arm ghosting her side before landing on her hip and turning her towards him. She tensed under his touch. "Why fight it love? Your body wants free from this cage and your mind holds the key. Just let it go."

Her hand came up and pressed flat against his chest. "Stop it, Jack," she said.

He stepped in closer, his finger tracing her jawline and drifting down her neck. He could feel her blushing. A slight shudder under his touch. "If you don't like my advances," he whispered, "you could put me on my back, couldn't you?" His finger continued its slow journey past her collarbone along the neckline of her dress, stopping at the top of her right breast. His finger paused its decent, tugging slightly at the fabric of her dress. "Hold a knife to my throat? I would be at your mercy." He liked the thought of that. He looked at her hungrily.

She cleared her throat, ignoring how her body strained to respond to him. "I shouldn't have to," she said, trying to hide the emotion in her voice.

His hand curling around, to cup her breast. A playful smile twitching at the corners of his mouth. She drew a sharp breath and arched her back when his thumb stroked her nipple through thin fabric.

She gritted her teeth and calmed her body, but she didn't pull away. "Are you done?" Oh, it would be so easy to give in. To slide her hands under his shirt. To breathe in his sweaty rum-soaked scent that made her weak in the knees. To let her dress slide off her shoulder and bare her flesh to him. To take his wicked mouth with hers. She steeled herself. "Please go, Jack."

"You're still angry," he said. He was still amused by this game, but he liked it better when he knew he was winning. "What happened? Things were good with us. Nothing needs to change. I'm the same. I'm as constant as the north star."

Ugh! How could he be so thick? "Yes, just like a star," she stepped back and rolled her eyes, "constantly in the darkness. You don't even know what you did wrong, do you?" That's what upset her the most. His apologies were just words to appease her. Nothing's changed? She scoffed. Except everything's changed. He didn't understand what the problem was. Maybe she didn't either. He was right they should talk. But right now she was tired and upset. "Please just go," she repeated.

"Come luv, don't send a lonely man away," he whispered. "You're lonely too. I know it." He was standing too close again. His thigh touching hers. His mouth hovering so close to hers, she could taste the rum on his breath. His hand slid back down to her hip and fisted the fabric of her dress, as he leaned his hips into hers, pushing her against the wall.

She felt her body respond. Opening up to him with a sigh. Her hips pushing back against his. "Tell me you want this," he moaned. Another fistful of fabric hiked her dress up past her knees. He kissed her neck, claiming her.

She gather her senses. "Stop!" she cried, "get out!"

Someone from another room poked their head out into the hallway, "is everything alright, lass?"

Jack stepped back, releasing her. He frowned.

"Yes, everything is fine" said Elizabeth, smoothing her dress, "the Captain was just leaving."

She was serious, arms crossed staring at the floor. Damn, she was stubborn. He often loved that about her, but not right now. He wasn't going to win this one. "If you change your mind," he said, "I'll be at the Mermaid." He climbed out her window, the same way he came in.

She closed her door and watched him leave. Graceful as a butterfly. She wondered how he didn't break his neck. She wished he would break his neck. No she didn't. She was so frustrated or angry or annoyed or something, she wanted to scream. She was staring out the window long after he was gone. She found herself blinking back tears while she searched the sky for the north star. Trying to figure out what just happened and what she was feeling.

She stood there until her friend, the orange cat, came through the window and called her to bed. It was hard to stay angry when this furry purr ball was demanding her attention. He tolerated her hugs, but demanded scratches, pressing into her hands and purring encouragement. Sometimes cats were better company than men.

* * *

 ** _How many stories, especially in fanfiction, have you read where some man of mystery just randomly shows up in helpless lady love-interest's room in the dark of night. In the context of those stories it's usually fine. She's usually waiting for him and wanting him. I wanted to turn that trope on its head a bit and be like, yo creep, it's not cool to break into someone's room and expect to have your way with her... Even if she's kind of into it._**

 ** _If you enjoyed this please follow, favourite and review._**


	16. Chapter 16

**_So no one seemed too happy about that last chapter. You all just want your sparrabeth, I know. Sadly there is no Jack in this chapter, but stick with me, this is a sparrabeth story and I promise they will be back some way some how._**

 ** _Thanks to Scarlet Woman, Sleepy Lotus and River for the reviews._**

 ** _Disney owns the things. Except for some OC's I got in here._**

* * *

Chp 16

Once upon a time, a woman drowned herself in a bottomless pool on the island of Shipwreck. Some say she was fleeing abuse from her husband. Some say she had been kidnapped and raped. Others say she was sold to a brothel, but ran away. Whatever the case all versions of the story agree that she had suffered what only women can suffer by the hands of men.

So great was her pain that she felt her only escape was to kill herself. She found herself in a cave full of hot springs. There she rested and prays to Calypso, goddess of the sea, to help her escape. She filled her pockets with stones and leaped into a bottomless pool, swimming down down down into its depths. She never surfaced. Some say she hoped to swim away to her freedom. A foolish thought for anyone living on a small island in a great ocean.

The story says, Calypso made a deal with her. She could board the Flying Dutchman and pass peacefully to the other side or she could work for Calypso and take her revenge on the men that had wronged her. The woman chose the later and found herself transformed. Half fish half human, she could swim twice as fast as the fastest ship. She could break bones with her bare hands. She found herself irresistibly beautiful, her voice so sweet it could call a man from the deck of his ship to step straight into the water. She need never be a victim again.

She found herself joining a sisterhood of mermaids. They would call out to ships and sailors to smash themselves against shallow rocks. Sparing any aboard who had never wronged a woman, while dragging the rest to a painful drowning death on the bottom of the ocean and delivering their souls to the Dutchman. Rarely were any men spared.

They say that the woman-turned-mermaid was frustrated that her abuser was avoiding the seas and thus she was not able to enact her revenge. So, every full moon, when Calypso would set them free from their labour and she would return to the bottomless pool at Shipwreck cove and sing sweet sad songs. Men, entranced, would wander from the village to the hot springs through bramble and thicket, crawl through caves and climb the high ridge to find her sitting naked by a pool in the moonlight.

She would entice them to come closer with her shy smile and feigned modesty. They would stumble towards her, winding their way past slippery rocks and hot springs, as if hypnotized. She would call them to sit next to her and when they were within her grasp, she would tear them limb from limb until the pools ran red with blood and she would leave their souls to wander and find their own way to the afterlife.

She killed a dozen men this way before a young man, perhaps too young to have wronged any woman, followed a friend to the cave. He watched her tear his friend to pieces for raping a girl at the tavern. He convinced her to set him free. He returned to the village and shared his tale of the beautiful mermaid, who had snapped his mates bones like twigs. It was meant as a warning to men to treat their women with respect.

However, on the next full moon the mermaid found a group of angry men waiting for her at the hot springs with swords and spears and all manner of weaponry. They tried to capture her, but she escaped down the bottomless pool and returned swiftly with her sisters. It was a massacre. The pools stained red with the blood of men. Since that time, no man dared return to these hot springs for fear of a painful death.

Once a month, on the day of the full moon, women of Shipwreck would gather for a day off and travel to the hot springs. It had been many many years since anyone had seen or heard of a mermaid in these waters, but the women would come and honour her history and the stories and experiences of other women who had suffered at the hands of men. Here they would set aside all petty grudges and jealousies and spend the day as sisters.

* * *

"I think it was perfectly reasonable for her to kick him out," said one woman. "He should hardly expect better sneaking around to her room like a thief in the night."

"He's a pirate, she should hardly expect better from him," scoffed another. "She's pirate king, but still wants to be treated like a lady. I don't think she'll be the one to tame Jack."

"She is a lady, isn't she?" said someone. "A governor's daughter. British propriety, maintaining one's honour and such. She grew up keeping her legs together, not like some of you lot, only thinking of your own pleasure. Probably frightened her to death to see him in her room like that."

"Oh, surely she's been pirate long enough not to be frightened by a man in her room."

"Perhaps she's been pirate long enough to know she should only be frightened if there's a man in her room!"

"They say she was a virgin until her wedding day with her dead husband."

"Can you imagine lying with a dead man?"

"He's not dead," chimed a voice, "not exactly."

"Immortal, then? What would that be like. He probably had endurance!"

"I think it's very romantic that she managed to kept herself a virgin for her husband. She must have loved him very much."

"I don't believe it. How could she possibly still be a virgin? Didn't Barbosa try rape her? I wouldn't be surprised if he pimped her out for information or cash on their trip to world's end. She's young and pretty enough to fetch a fair price."

"Or Sao Feng? She was prisoner on his ship. Why wouldn't he have taken her? Skinny chit was his type. He's not one to treat women with respect."

"Perhaps her husband kept the other men off of her."

"I heard they were on bad terms for most of that trip."

"I've seen her pushing hands with the chinamen on the docks. It's not as though she couldn't hold her own in a fair fight. If Jack wasn't behaving himself she could hold him off. Besides, he wouldn't take her against her will, would he?"

"I've seen her weld a dagger on the docks and it's not as though she's shy with her blade, either. I say, good for her to keep those men in line."

"They're friends aren't they? She and Jack. Why should she have to fight him off at all? He should respect her wishes to be with him or not. She shouldn't have to have her guard up all the time, no? Besides it's harder to knife someone you love than some random ruffian in a dark alley."

"You think she loves him?"

"I love him. I'd love him more if I catch him and keep him to myself. He's not a bird easily captured."

"You love him most with his shirt off!"

"Mmmm... And his pants off too!"

"Maybe she's not willing to spread her legs for him. Think of how many times you cried before you realized the money you were getting was your independence. Your freedom. The first job she found was on the docks not the whore houses. She doesn't need to lie on her back to pay her way."

"And she not loose like you!"

"She's a prude."

"Not such a prude that she doesn't run around showing her calves. And well," she whispered, "I don't think she bothers with undergarments!"

Someone laughed, "it's not like she needs the support."

"Lucky girl. I only wish I wasn't cursed with large breasts and a bad back."

"She's stuck up all the same. She thinks she's better than the rest of us. She's hardly come by to the taverns for a drink."

"What good are the taverns to her with you lot draped all over the men? I hardly blame her for avoiding it all. Especially when she has Sparrow all to herself on the Pearl."

"I heard they shared a bed one night and the very next day she ran out on him. Why she's just like a man to use him like that!"

"Good for her."

"I heard different, and if Jack's demeanour is telling, I'd say he hasn't gotten any in awhile."

"If Jack isn't doing it for her, she could pick up some comfort for the evening at the taverns. She's not bad looking, especially since Neema's got her in some women's clothes. She could probably even charge a little and still have her pick of the men. At least until the novelty wears off and they go back to their regulars."

"Maybe she's not interested in a tryst. Perhaps she wants to stay faithful to the Dutchman, her husband. He's not yet dead."

"Oh, who stays faithful to their husband when he's away at sea? They surely don't stay faithful to us. Ask the whores in any port!"

"Franny has stayed faithful to her Steven. And he to her, or so I've heard. He's been gone almost two years and she still holds out hope he's not dead or married to some mistress in a far off port."

"Well, I hardly blame her. She and Steven were childhood sweethearts. Besides the fact that he's handsome enough to make a girl blush when he looks at them."

"Franny's an odd one. Her son is going to grow up odd as well, the way she clings to him and doesn't let him out of her sight."

"He's all she has. You can hardly blame her. He's a good lad. He'll be handsome like his father too, I reckon."

"At least when handsome Steven returns he'll be here more than a day. He'll be back at least a month or more before heading back to sea. He brings money home when he returns. And one day he'll retire to the farm and they can grow old together."

"You're right, poor Elizabeth is cursed to see her man only once every ten years. Just long enough to feel guilty about it. No family. No money. Can you imagine only laying with a man once every ten years? What if you're bleeding that day?"

"No need to be crass about it!"

"It's not crass. Think about it. I don't want a man touching me when I'm on my monthly."

"Well, you don't want to cross the man who ferries you into the afterlife. She best be faithful to him and put out when he's around, I say."

"Not everyone man is as petty as that husband you ran from. Perhaps her man will take pity on her circumstances and set her free."

"I still think that Elizabeth is a prude. If Jack Sparrow would like to climb in my window," sighed a voice, "I can think of a few things I'd do with him."

"Not everyone is loose like you! You'd probably tie him to the bed," laughed a woman.

"Oh, I didn't even think of that," she swooned.

"Perhaps the Dutchman was not a very good lover and she has sworn off men."

"Oh, I never thought much of sex until I met my husband. I just didn't see what the big deal was. At best it was boring and uncomfortable, at worse it was painful and a test of endurance. Mostly underwhelming. But when I met Kuldeep, everything changed. He was so sweet and handsome and gentle... And not gentle. I wasn't going to let him go, after the way he could make my body sing."

"Have you ever been with Jack Sparrow? Let's just say he is endowed with many gifts." The women tittered and sighed.

"Oh yes, and he knows how to use those gifts."

"You know that thing he does with his tongue? It makes me tight and wet just thinking about it."

"Tongue? The gifts I was thinking of are hiding in his pants." The women giggled.

"Oh that, hmmmm... And the way he uses his all his fingers and his thumb?" They laughed harder.

"Well we all have Esmeralda to thank for that," said a voice.

"Really?" Asked someone, "why's that?"

"Don't you know?" she said. "Esmeralda was his first lover. She's not one to fake it. Taught him everything a lad should know about pleasing a woman."

"Really?! Jack and Esmeralda... Why didn't that work out? They're still good friends, aren't they?"

"I heard it was because Sparrow can't commit."

"I heard it was because Esmeralda prefers the company of women."

"Perhaps Elizabeth also prefers the company of women?"

"Perhaps Elizabeth is also looking for commitment?"

"Maybe she wants payment for her time. Have you noticed Jack hasn't paid for a whore in a fortnight at least. He's out of cash. He'll be setting sail soon. He never liked this City. He never stays long."

"Do you think she'll go with him?"

"She says she plans to stay. Smart I think. If things don't work out, it's hard to avoid each other on a ship. There's a reason why most ships won't take women. They don't want the drama."

"Perhaps it's not meant to be. She'll not convince him to stay here. There's no work. He needs to earn his way somehow."

"He doesn't need money to find company, if that's what he's looking for."

"Maybe if you stopped throwing yourself at him he would be more inclined. You need to learn some subtly girl, and not just thrust your breasts in every man's face."

"But it's worked so well for her thus far. And you must admit she does have a shapely bosom."

"Maybe Jack's not interested in shapely bosoms. He can't seem to take his eyes off that Elizabeth, and she's hardly any bosom to speak of. Not to say that she isn't pretty in her own way."

"Made if she wore proper undergarments she would at least look like she had some semblance of a bosom. Or she could fake it and stuff her dress."

"Have you seen the way they look at each other? She and Jack?" Said one girl. "He walks her home every night from the Pearl. It's really very sweet. You'd think them lovers, if she didn't go up to bed alone and he to the brothels for company."

"Well he hasn't done that in a week. Must be some tiff between them."

"Maybe she's waiting for more? Maybe she wants to be courted and not just bedded? She probably wants a big wedding with a ring and a beautiful wedding gown and lots of guests and cake."

"You're a romantic fool. She married her husband during battle and he died in her arms. The way you'd tell the tale, she'll next throw herself into the ocean to drown just to be with him."

"Hush, don't speak like that," a few women crossed themselves or said a quick prayer to ward off evil.

* * *

Elizabeth slept barely a wink. She was so flustered by Jack's visit. Maybe she was wrong to throw him out. He said he wanted to talk and she did want to talk, of course she did. But not in the dark of night, with him sneaking into her room through the window. Why couldn't he just be normal and meet her in the square or ask her to lunch?

She looked at herself in the mirror. He had stolen back his kohl pot. No matter, her eyes were already rimmed with dark circles. A purple mark on her neck belied where he had kissed her. Bastard. She tied a kerchief around her neck to try and hide it. Though they were going to the hot springs, there wouldn't be much hiding of anything.

She could hear the voices of gossiping women gathered outside the Inn. They were definitely talking about her and Jack. She had been looking forward to this day and now she was dreading it.

She didn't like to think of herself as a prude or a whore. She liked to think of herself as being honourable and faithful to her husband. She wanted to be that girl. Such a romantic notion to love someone so much you would forsake all others. Clearly a sentiment that was not shared by all the women here.

Perhaps she had already crossed that bridge. Her heart already belonged to someone else. She was foolish to deny it. Yet she was too proud to admit that perhaps she had married the wrong man. She could just double down on her stubbornness and live in this hellish purgatory until she died. Wasn't that romantic?

There was a knock on her door. "Elizabeth," it was Esmeralda, "will you be joining us? Everyone is so looking forward to meeting you."

Elizabeth paused in her thoughts. She hadn't shed a tear all night. She hated feeling weepy and suddenly that was exactly how she found herself feeling. "I'm not sure if I'm feeling well enough to go," she said.

"May I come in?" asked Esmeralda. Elizabeth reached over and unlocked the door. Esmeralda stepped in and closed the door behind her. Elizabeth looked tired and sullen. "You were so looking forward to this trip. What happened?"

"I found Jack in my room last night," said Elizabeth. "He wanted to talk. I told him to leave."

Esmeralda waited for her to continue, but she didn't. She just stared a little blankly at her reflection. "It looks like he wanted more than just to talk," said Esmeralda pointing to the hickey peaking out above the scarf on her neck. Elizabeth blushed and put her hand to her neck.

"I told him to stop," she said. "He kept pushing. I told him to stop. I told him to leave." Was he so different from other men who refused to hear the word no? She felt sick with the memory of unwanted advances.

Being cornered by men in taverns and dark alleys in strange lands. Torn clothing and bruises. The insistence by these men that this was what she wanted. That she was asking for it.

She was rescued by Barbosa or Gibbs more than once, before she made them teach her how to defend herself. Seeing someone else's blood on her hands the next time it happened. For once, she felt safe being alone in the streets. To not have to depend on anyone. This was the price of freedom.

"I'm sorry he didn't hear you," said Esmeralda, trying to ascertain if there was something else to this tale. "Sometimes men only hear what they want to hear." She put her hand on Elizabeth's shoulder. "You deserve better from him. Come with us, for a day away from all of this."

Elizabeth shrugged, thinking about the crowd gathering outside and feeling suddenly nervous, "what if they don't like me?" she asked.

"I'm sorry about all the chatter outside your window," said Esmeralda. "We may sound catty and we certainly don't agree on everything - sometimes we don't agree on anything. But I promise, whatever you decide to do we will support you. It is a small island and most of the time there are no men to fight over. We have all had our hardships and we have only ourselves to rely on. Savvy?"

Elizabeth nodded and wiped her tears.

* * *

Sometimes women were better company than men. There were enough women, young and old, to fill two long boats.

Since she left the Black Pearl she had retreated to women's spaces, spending most of her time at the dress shop and the Inn. It was strangely comforting to be away from the men. It was easier somehow. She found she carried herself differently. Laughed about different things. Talked about different things. Didn't have to push herself to keep up with bigger stronger men doing physical labour.

She looked at the women around her. She hated that they were beautiful. She hated herself for thinking that. She coveted their cute outfits and dainty embroidered slippers that seemed all the rage here. She was wearing the same dress she'd been wearing all week and her clunky old boots. Fashion didn't matter so much on the docks, she was always the prettiest whe she was the only woman on a ship full of men. It hurt her girlish pride to be unfashionable.

She hadn't felt this self-conscious since she walked into the brethren court. She took a deep breath, this was supposed to be a fun day out. She recognized some of the women from the brothel and taverns. She had seen more than one of them on Jack's arm, or his lap.

She tried not to feel jealous. It wasn't as though she was unaware of Jack's evening pastimes. She knew that he sought the company of women after walking her home. She knew that what she had to offer him was not enough to satisfy. He made that clear.

She deserved better from him, didn't she? Or he from her? Why was she even thinking this? She had a husband. One that loved her. One that was faithful to her only. One that she would see for a day in ten years. Heartache. Worse, guilty heartache.

She promised herself she would be friendly to everyone. After all, she planned to stay here in Shipwreck, these would be the women she would be living with. Everyone was being very nice. She had no reason to feel anxious. Perhaps Esmeralda was right about this sisterhood.

"Elizabeth?" asked a woman in a green dress. "I'm Ruth Haines. We've met before once or twice in passing. I've heard so much about you, but you never join Jack or the crew for a drink down at the Mermaid. We always ask after you. We are so curious to get to know you better. Sorry, I don't usually prattle on like this to strangers. I suppose I'm just excited to finally spend the day getting to know you better."

Ruth. This was the 'Ruth' Jack called back to bed in his half sleep. Elizabeth felt her stomach churn. She smiled, "it's lovely to make your acquaintance, Ruth. Jack's mentioned you." She didn't really know what to say. It's true she didn't make much effort to be social. It was easier to work herself to the bone and pass out from exhaustion, than it was to try not to cry in social situations and be kept awake by nightmares. Even now she found it difficult not to be emotional. She looked up at Ruth with sad eyes, "I'm afraid I am guilty of keeping to myself. I haven't been very good company lately."

Ruth put her arm around Elizabeth's shoulders. "There now," said Ruth, "no need to apologize to me. We know enough to know you've had a hard go of it. Though you've done alright for yourself here."

Elizabeth was surprised at how comfortable she felt with this woman. Someone who had recently been intimate with Jack. She closed her eyes. It could have been her. It could have been her last night. She didn't know if she was ready for it. She looked up and Ruth was smiling at her. She smiled back.

They rowed out past the fishing village and pulled up on a small beach. From there they hiked along a narrow switchback to a cave near the top of the rim. It was a dark tunnel only wide enough to travel single file until they reached the outside of the island.

The sea smelled different out here. Elizabeth didn't realize how much she missed the roll of the waves. They crashed against the rocky shore. It was all blue sky to the horizon. There was something comforting about being able to see the sea kiss the sky.

On the side of the hill was building made from an overturned boat. It was so overgrown by vines and mosses that it had almost become part of the hillside.

The women entered the building. Large windows were cut into the hull to let in the light and what would later be a sunset view. Inside was a large room with tables and benches. The women unpacked and ate a picnic lunch of cold meats and an assortment of salads.

The cave opened up to the outside of the island and a grand view of the ocean and sunlight streaming in. Inside the cave, and cascading down the side of the face of the island, were a series of pools filled with water of varying temperatures from almost boiling to frigid. Each pool marked with a series of lines etched into the rock, more lines indicated a hotter temperature. The rocks all around were worn smooth from years of use.

Elizabeth watched as the women helped each other out of their clothes. Unlacing, they stripped down to various stages of undress. Some down to their chemise, some to a loincloth, most down to nothing at all. Women's bodies of all shapes and sizes, grey haired women with stretch marks and sagging breast, younger women in their prime with taut, curvaceous, sometimes hairless bodies. They tested the waters before slipping in.

"You can keep your clothes on if you like," said Esmeralda, noticing that Elizabeth was standing alone by the wall, "or sit on the rocks and sunbathe, but the water's fine."

Elizabeth had not bathed in the open with other women in a long time. When she was still a girl in Port Royal there was a quiet swimming hole that she would go to with her maids and other women from town. She always enjoyed those outings. It was so refreshing to jump into the water to cool off from the sweltering Jamaican heat.

The last time she went bathing with her girlfriends in Jamaica, they looked up from their bath to see a row of men leering down at them. A visiting regiment of red coats had set up camp on the cliff nearby and they were attracted by the sounds of women's voices.

Elizabeth found herself being pulled from the water, by her maids, dressed and sent home. After that her father forbid her to go bathing with her friends, even after the regiment had left. She argued with him about it, but he was adamant. She was too old to be gadding about the island with no clothes.

"If you're worried," said one of the girls, laughing as she splashed about, "the men never come here. We tell them the mermaids will get them."

"Well, there were once Mermaids here, though no one has seen them in many years. That pool," said Esmeralda pointing to one near the mouth of the cave, "is bottomless. They say that's where the mermaids come up."

Elizabeth nodded intrigued. She had been told the tale of the mermaids when Esmeralda had invited her. Mermaid waters. Her heart skipped a little remembering that night after Will's memorial. Lying on the dock with Jack next to her, singing with the mermaids.

She hadn't thought much about the mermaids until now. Rather, memories of that night were of how sweet Jack was to seek her out in her grief and take care of her. What changed? Could they not just be friends? Did she want to be more than just that?

She felt a little self conscious as she undressed. Her body filled out enough that you couldn't count her ribs at a glance, but she was covered in bruises from work. Perhaps the mark that Jack left would just blend in with the other marks where she had been kissed by ropes and timber. She slipped naked into the warm pool and let a small sigh escape her. The warm water enveloping her as she sank below the surface.

* * *

"So what's the story between you and Jack?" Ruth had been humming and hawing about how to approach the question, but settled on being direct. They had been drinking while enjoying their bath. Rum was enough of an introduction to any conversation. Wasn't it?

"He's a friend," said Elizabeth. "What's the story between you and Jack?" She asked, turning the tables with a smile.

"Fair play," smiled Ruth. "I suppose I could call him a friend. We are friendly. I've known him a good many years. My husband once sailed with him. But mostly when I see it him it is because he's paying for my company."

"Where's your husband now?" asked Elizabeth.

"He's at sea," she sighed and sipped her drink.

"Does he know you..?"

Ruth nodded. "We have an agreement. When he is here we are only with each other. But when he is away we can take our own pleasure, as long as it doesn't get too personal. He is my the love of my life. We don't forget who holds our heart."

"I don't know if my husband holds my heart," Elizabeth admitted. Sometimes it's easier to admit things to strangers. Sometimes it was easier to admit things after a glass or two of rum. She topped herself up.

"Did a pirate steal it?" asked Ruth. Elizabeth didn't say anything, but her startled look was response enough. "Perhaps you've stolen his heart as well. I've never seen Jack like this. He never lollygags on his visits home. He's always away as soon as he's done licking his wounds. He's never this happy at Shipwreck. He's been down right jolly for most of his stay.

"I ask him about you and he blushes. I've never seen him blush at the thought of a woman, ever. Who are you that he would vote you king and blush at the sound of your name? There's certainly something special about you. Something that leaves him breathless.

"What happened during the storm? You've been avoiding each other. He's been drinking alone a lot lately. I gather he did something stupid and is too daft to swallow his pride and make things right with you."

Elizabeth sat silently sipping her drink, while those words sank in. How could she explain something that she didn't understand? Some context, perhaps. "I'd known my husband since we were children. We were sweethearts forever despite everyone's protest that marrying a blacksmith was below my station.

"I made my choice and we were engaged for almost a year. My father insisted that his only child should have only the finest wedding. He needed time to arrange for guests from over seas. Dignitaries were invited. My gown was of the finest workmanship that could be found on the island. The reception was to have the finest musicians play at the ball. No expense was spared, though I would have been fine to run away, elope and have a simple life with the man I loved.

"On the morning of my wedding I was arrested and sentenced to hang for helping a pirate and to them, that was as good as being a pirate. Everything changed that day. Somewhere along the way from there to here, there were things other than a man's affections for me to set my mind and heart to. It took me a very long time to accept that the pirate life was for me. But it is for me. I've never felt so free to be my own person. To make my own way in the world."

Ruth nodded smiling. "Freedom. Yes. You sound like Jack. He says the Black Pearl is..."

"...not just a keel and a hull and sails; that's what a ship needs. Not what a ship is. What the Black Pearl really is, is freedom," the women said in unison, laughing. They clinked their cups.

"Yet I heard you've decided not to join her crew," said Ruth raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Have you sailed much?" asked Elizabeth.

"Of course," said Ruth, "you don't come to Shipwreck without surviving a long journey."

"It's not easy being the only woman on a ship," said Elizabeth. "Maybe it's easier if your married to someone. There's clarity that you have been claimed. Otherwise there are unending propositions by lonely men. Then a ship can feel less like freedom and more like a cage. This island grants me more freedom than I ever expected from the world."

Ruth considered these words and nodded. She understood the draw of Shipwreck cove for women. She'd heard the story many time in many ways by many women. Most of them here today, enjoying a day to themselves.

"Can I share another secret to freedom?," confided Ruth. "Contraception. If you lay with a man when you're fertile, take a square of cloth rubbed with fat and put it inside you to stop his seed. You can drink pennyroyal tea or chew the seeds of wild carrot afterwards. Having children only when you want them? That is freedom. The kind of freedom men don't need to think about."

Elizabeth giggled nervously. That explained a lot about the looseness in the gossip she'd overheard. The way these women talked about sex with different men would have been scandalous back in Port Royal, though she didn't associate with prostitutes back then. Maybe it was just women of her station whose job it was to produce heirs where such talk of contraception was so taboo. "Do you have children, Ruth?" asked Elizabeth.

"Just one," said Ruth. "A girl. Marta. She's eight and quite the little madam. Always ordering everyone around. I once thought to have a big family, but one is quite enough for me, especially with my husband away as much as he is."

"I was an only child," said Elizabeth. "I always planned to have a big family." She hugged her belly and confided something else, "I don't know if I'm pregnant. I haven't bled since I was taken aboard the Empress by Sao Feng. Probably the only thing that kept him from raping me. He'd such a fear of being dirty, always soaking in his baths. It's been more than a month since I lay with Will. But I don't know. I haven't been regular since I left Jamaica. Perhaps working like a man has confused my body into think it is a man."

Ruth reached for and held Elizabeth's hand underwater. She gave it a squeeze. If she was pregnant, she certainly wasn't the first on this island to have a baby on her own. She surely wouldn't be the last. "You can ask Esmeralda, if you're worried," said Ruth. "She's a midwife. I hear it's not unusual for women to lose their cycle when they sail. Too much work. Not enough food. You body knows it's not time to have children."

Elizabeth hadn't talked to anyone about this. It was too personal. She was too afraid of what it might mean. To be with child or to not be with child. She hadn't let herself ruminate about it, though it had started sneaking more and more into her thoughts. She wasn't sure why she felt comfortable enough to speak of it now.

"Can I ask you something?" said Elizabeth, changing the subject. "Does Jack have any children?"

Ruth laughed, "no that I know of."

"It's just... Well, the number of women on this island who have been intimate with him," Elizabeth blushed, still finding it awkward to discuss these things so openly, "and, well, he seems so good with the children here. It would make sense that he would have one if his own, wouldn't it?"

"You forget, freedom is what Jack wants most," said Ruth. "A child is many good things and I wouldn't give up my little girl for anything in the world. But when you have children, especially as a woman, you are never really free. I think playing Uncle Jack once every few years when he comes to visit is quite enough to satisfy his fatherly desires."

Freedom. How could you love someone and also be free? Could she own his heart and watch him fly away? Had she done that before with another man? She was destined for a life of heartbreak.

"Have you ever had a tryst with a man?" asked Elizabeth. "I mean not for payment, not for work," she stumbled on her words trying to respect the difference between what these women did with their bodies versus their hearts.

Ruth shook her head and read between the lines. "If this is about you and Jack, I can't say what's right for you. Have him pay you something if that makes it a better excuse when you try to explain it to your husband, but only you know where your heart lies. Either way, you should talk to him and make things right. We all see that somethings come between you. He'll be sailing soon, you know as well as anyone that a sailors return is never guaranteed, and you'll regret wasting this time that you could have had together."

* * *

 ** _Hope this chapter is a little more satisfactory for you all. Please review with your praise and criticisms, follow and favourite._**

 ** _Also drinking in the hot tub while pregnant, generally not advisable. Google suggests the jury is out on hot tubbing while pregnant. We know boozing is generally not a good idea, but Elizabeth's already been drinking, so why stop now?_**

 ** _Please review, follow and favourite_**


	17. Chapter 17

_**This chapter was fun to write. Hope you find it fun to read.**_

 ** _Thanks, as always, to Scarlet a Woman, River and Sleepy Lotus for their reviews._**

 ** _Disney owns the things. I got some OCs in here._**

* * *

Chp 17

Jack was sitting on the deck of the Pearl with a mug in one hand and his compass in the other. He was trying to see if he could get the compass to point somewhere other than where he knew it was currently pointing, because where it was currently pointing was not very useful, because the person it was pointing at had told him to bugger off.

He took a swig of his grog, going light this morning. He flipped open his compass. Same. Maybe he switching to straight rum would improve his mood. Maybe not.

He tried to think about other things. He should be thinking about some lost treasure. He was out of cash and needed to get off this island for some adventure. But the compass couldn't tell him where to go to get what he needed, only what he wanted.

His magic compass could only point to what his heart most desired. What he wanted now, more than anything in the world, was for Lizzie to not be angry with him. The compass wasn't very helpful for that.

Swig. Think about buried treasure. Flip. Pointing to Lizzie. Swig. Think about adventure on the open seas. Flip. Still pointing to Lizzie. Swig. Think about Lizzie. Flip. Feel sorry for himself.

* * *

"Uncle Jack, I mean Captain Sparrow," stuttered a boy from the docks. "I'd like to sign up for your crew."

Jack leaned over the railing and eyed the boy up and down, "Nate, isn't it?" he asked. The boy was built like his father, but had his mother's face - something about his eyes and that crooked smile. "A bit young still, aren't you?"

"I'm 16," he said, deepening his voice, "and can handle myself. I want to learn the ropes here. I work hard and won't disappoint you."

Jack went through a quick calculation in his head. "You're 14 if a day," said Jack cocking his head at him. "Come back in a few years when you can grow a beard and your voice changes. Does your mother know you're here?"

The boy looked defeated. "Not exactly," he said staring at his toes. "Well, she's away to the hot springs today, so I get to spend a day in town."

"Yes, of course," hummed Jack with a grin, "she should get out more, so should you." The boy lived a sheltered life. His mother hardly let him out of her sight, with her husband away at sea so much, the boy was her only company. They had all tried to convince her to move into town, but she didn't want to leave the farm. Now her son was looking to run off on the next ship.

"I promise I won't be any trouble if you take me on," said Nate, continuing to plead his case. "I've been practicing my knots."

Jack picked up a length of rope and flung it down to him. "Anchor to that post with a round turn and two half hitches."

The boy caught the rope and did as he was ordered. The boy smiled up at Jack. Jack smiled back. This was a good distraction from his morning reverie.

"Tie a bowline on the end of that," ordered Jack. The boy tied a reasonable facsimile, then untied it and corrected his mistake.

"Not bad," said Jack getting up and bringing another piece of rope down to the boy. They went through a reef knot, sheet bend and rolling hitch. Nate got all of them, though he was still a little unsure of himself, he just needed more practice on an actual boat rather than playing with his mother's yarn.

"C'mon," said Jack putting his arm around the boy, "I'll buy you a drink. We'll make a man of you yet young Nathaniel."

* * *

They wandered up to the square. A good place for a lad who doesn't much come to town to enjoy the ambiance. "Do you drink rum?" asked Jack.

Nate shook his head.

"Grog?" asked Jack. The boy looked at him a little blankly. "Your mother's got you on well water, doesn't she? Thinks rum's the devil's drink?" Nate nodded. Jack sighed.

They bellied up to the window of a bar. "Two grog, make mine a double, make his a half," ordered Jack, pointing his thumb at Nate.

"Uncle Jack!" Came the repeated cry, as the children knew when Jack was hanging about in the square he was their playmate and not busy with grown up things. There were at least a half dozen of them hugging his legs and waist and more hanging back waiting their turn.

He never brushed away their affections, instead he called back the barkeep, "what do children drink these days? Lemonade?" he asked. "I'll get a couple pitchers of whatever it is and a stack of cups. We'll be over on the steps. Just call out when it's ready and I'll have one of these rascals come pick it up."

He had Nate run back to the Pearl to get a coil of rope from Marty. He cut it into long lengths and gave each of his "nephews" and "nieces" a piece. He barked orders getting them to practice their knots. He showed the ones that didn't know and got those more experienced to pair up with a beginner. He delighted in explaining what each knot was used for, adding a short tale (real or imagined) of how each knot had saved (or might save) a man's life, sometimes involving all manner of sea monsters, which he well knew were very much real, though rarely (if ever) all seen at the same time.

By high noon their lemonade was done and some of the little ones were getting cranky in the sun. Jack didn't have the coin to buy everyone lunch. So he conscripted the children into developing a menu which they would then help to procure.

The procurement of lunch involved much begging, but no outright thievery. Jack didn't have a problem with stealing in general, but he didn't like stealing from local businesses and certainly not when he would be enjoying said procured goods in plain view of everyone, with a bunch of children, some of whom were too young to understand the need to keep things quiet. Best to keep everything above board.

A loaf of bread from someone's mother. Cheese from the dairy. A bag of apples. A sack of peanuts. Sorrel picked from someone's garden. A few links of dried sausage from the butcher. Table cloth to spread on the ground. A few plates borrowed.

They spread out their bounty in a corner of the square. Jack organized the older kids who had pocket knives to start dividing everything up into portions and occupied the little ones with counting games. Everyone got a fair share. The captain and quarter master, Nate, received two shares, and some of the older kids who he named his officers received one and a half shares, everyone else received one full share. They could trade if there were things they liked or didn't like. Jack assisted with fair negotiations so the little ones didn't get completely duped. A piggy back ride for a piece of cheese; a kiss on the cheek for a bite of apple; and so it went.

* * *

The afternoon was spent with the children singing him all the songs they knew, in trade for slight of hand pickpocket tricks. He made them run races and games of tag, to wear them out. Now they were just laying about the square, the little ones making up their own games while the older ones sat with Jack on the steps.

"Mama says you'll be leaving soon," said Clara. She was twelve and a little disappointed that she was getting too old for sitting in Uncle Jack's lap, but she sat next to him and hugged his arm and leaned her head on his shoulder. "We were hoping to take you sailing. We could go to Samson island for the day."

Samson island was a small spit of a place where poor Samson was marooned and met his demise trying to swim to Shipwreck Island. Nice beaches and fruit trees, but no freshwater. It was close enough to Shipwreck island that people would use it as a getaway if they wanted a change of scenery. "I don't know, luv," said Jack. He was already wasting his day here with them, when he should have been on the docks recruiting a crew for the Pearl.

"Pleeeeeease," whined the girls and some of the younger boys, while the older boys looked on hopefully.

"It'll be so fun to spend the day with you. We can borrow Ming's boat. It's small and fast, but big enough for all of us," said Clara nodding at her crew of older kids. "I'll be captain and you could be first mate, or just be our guest and we'll do all the work!"

"You could bring your friend Elizabeth," said Marta. Jack balked. He wasn't expecting that. Though he shouldn't have expected any less from Ruthy's daughter. As nosey and bossy and beautiful as her mother.

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea," said Jack, his tone changed, suddenly drawn back into the dark cloud that had him reaching for his compass and a bottle of rum.

"But why?" whined Marta.

"She's a nice lady. She reads us stories and sings us songs," said one of the boys, Hermano. Jack felt a twang of pain in his chest as one of his heart strings broke. Small jealousy, she used to read and sing to him. Turncoat.

"I think she's pretty," said one of the other girls. Jack sighed. Pretty didn't begin to describe her or how he felt when he saw her. She was intoxicating. And if there was anyone who could appreciate the feeling of intoxication, it was him.

"I don't think Lizzie wants anything to do with me," said Jack.

The children watched his demeanour change at the mention of Elizabeth. He looked sad. "Grown up problems?" asked Clara looking up at him with clear blue eyes. Uncle Jack didn't often share his grown up problems with them. That was a different part of his world that he didn't let them see.

"Mama says you're in love with her but you're too stupid to do anything about it," said Marta. "Is that true Uncle Jack?"

"Your mama's not very good at minding her own business," said Jack. They stared at him waiting for a better answer. "Lizzie and I were good friends, until I did something stupid. Now she's mad at me and doesn't want to see me and that makes me sad, savvy?" he added, a little annoyed.

"I did something to Marta last week," said Hermano, "but I didn't know it was going to hurt her feelings like that. I told her I was sorry and now we're friends again. Maybe you should say you're sorry?"

"When my mama is mad at papa, she always says papa takes her for granted," said the butchers son, "Then papa has to sleep on the floor with us, instead of in the bed with mama and the baby. So then papa has to do nice things for mama to forgive him, like bring her flowers and cook and clean for her. And then mama is happy again and she and papa kiss all the time."

"Yes, you should buy her a gift," said Nate. "My father always brings presents for mother when he comes back from sea. She doesn't like it that he goes away, but I think it helps when he comes back with money and gifts."

"If we help make Elizabeth not be mad at you," proposed Clara, "will you and her come sailing with us?"

Jack looked her in the eye and considered her deal. Clara was by far his favourite; confident, competent, and saucy. "Alright," said Jack, relenting "if I were to take relationship advice from you lot, what kind of gift should I get her?"

"Candy"

"Flowers"

"A horse"

"A boat"

"Gold and jewels"

"A castle"

"A pretty dress"

"A lacy red petticoat"

"Ahh tatatatata..." cried Jack his hands up to stem the tide of ideas being shouted at him. "I haven't a horse, or a castle - really? A castle? To give her? Really? Not going to give her me boat. Jewelry - too romantic. This is an 'I'm sorry present' I just want her to not be mad at me, not for her to marry me. Pretty dress? Don't know what she likes, no money to buy one. Lacy petticoat?! How old are you, madam?"

"I'm eight and my mama has one that she wears all the time when she wants to feel pretty," said Marta.

Jack bit his tongue before he could say, that he'd seen her mother in that petticoat and she did look very pretty... though pretty wasn't quite the right word for it. Instead he raised an eyebrow at her. "No more talk of petticoats. That leaves candy and flowers. I don't think she likes candy as much as you lot. So flowers then?"

"We can help you pick some!" cried Marta helpfully.

"If you can't buy her something, you could give her something of yours. Maybe something she likes," said Clara. "My mother's always stealing one of my father's sashes. He even bought her one just like it, but she still takes his, even though it's faded and torn. She says it reminds her of him and she can keep him close, even when he's away."

Jack thought of that pot of kohl that Lizzie had stolen. He put his hand in his pocket and felt it still there. Its small round body and silver engraving felt cool and comforting in his palm. When had she taken it? Something to keep him close to her. His arms ached to hold her, but instead he hugged the girls that were cuddled into his sides. "Well then," he said getting up, "where's the best place to pick some flowers?"

Jack and his mini crew marched to the edge of town. They picked flowers you the fistful. Got distracted with making daisy chains for each other and chasing the boys to bedeck them with flower crowns. Got more distracted with braiding flowers into Uncle Jack's hair. As the sun was starting to set and their tummies began to rumble for dinner, Uncle Jack started barking orders to get them back in line and they picked a nice bouquet for Elizabeth and sauntered back to town.

* * *

"You should keep them in water or they'll wilt," said Clara when they got back to the square.

Jack frowned, "going to be difficult to climb into her window with a vase full of flowers."

"Why would you climb in her window?" asked Clara, making a face like he was crazy or stupid.

"Well," he sighed, not really appreciating her attitude, "not sure when she'll be back and it would be nice for her to come home to a surprise, wouldn't it?"

Clara rolled her eyes and shook her head. "Wait here. I'll be back." She disappeared into the inn. A few minutes later she returned. "C'mon Uncle Jack," she beckoned impatiently from the door of the inn. She had procured a vase of water and the key to Elizabeth's room.

"How'd you get those?" he asked amused.

"I asked Isobel," said Clara. "She works here as a maid. She had keys to all the rooms. And she owes me for the time I didn't rat on her about... Well, she owes me." Jack grinned and mussed her hair. If he was a good 20 years younger, how this girl would steal his heart.

They let themselves into Elizabeth's room. "I thought the king's room would be bigger," said Clara putting the vase down and looking around. She picked up a sword that was leaning in the corner.

"Hey," said Jack arranging flowers in the vase, "don't touch her things." Suddenly feeling respectful and responsible where he'd felt curious and mischievous last night. It was the whelp's sword. He could tell by the craftsmanship. It was a good sword.

Clara rolled her eyes. "Oh," she said, "almost forgot." She pulled out a pencil and a piece of note paper. "You should write a note. Say something sweet."

"This smells like perfume," frowned Jack, taking the paper.

"You're welcome," she said, with an exasperated air, flopping onto the bed. "I didn't have a lot of time to shop around."

She was right and smart to think of leaving a note. He couldn't think of anything to write. Clara was staring at the ceiling and swinging her legs, thumping them against the bed. Thump-thump. Thump-thump.

"Do you mind going out in the hallway and giving me a minute?" asked Jack.

She got up grumpily but complied. He sat at her dressing table and cleared his head. This would go better if he had a drink. He jotted down a heartfelt note. Pulled a couple things from his pocket and put them next to the vase.

He and Clara locked the door. Returned the key to Isobel. He walked her home, as it was getting dark and her parents invited him in for dinner and a drink.

* * *

Elizabeth returned home with the full moon high in the sky. She stepped into her room to find a vase of wildflowers, a pot of kohl, a most familiar magic compass on her dresser. There was a note:

 _Dear Lizzie,_

 _Sorry for breaking into your room again. Please forgive me for taking you for granted. I'm an ass. I miss you. Come find me if you want to talk._

 _Jack_

* * *

 ** _C'mon, how could you not like that chapter? It was totally fun._**

 ** _Please favourite, follow and review. Next chapter might take a little longer. I have a few things I need to figure out to get me from A_ _to B._**


	18. Chapter 18

**_I'm glad everyone enjoyed the last chapter. Sadly this one is not as fun, but there will be more fun chapters to come, I promise. Perhaps I should consider doing a series of "hanging out with Uncle Jack" stories... Hmmmmmmm..._**

 ** _Thanks to kcpiratey05, River, Sleepy Lotus, Strangerslikeme25 and Scarlet Woman for the reviews. Your feedback is always appreciated._**

 ** _Disney owns the things. Except for going off canon on some of the characters histories and an increasing number of OCs getting thrown in here. I always get nervous when fan fiction authors start throwing in a lot of OCs. Hopefully mine don't come off too one dimensional. They're bit parts mostly, so far, but that might change._**

* * *

Chp 18

She read his note twice. She sat down and read it again. She blew out her candle and lay on the bed, exhausted from lack of sleep and a long day, hugging the note to her chest. She held it up to the moonlight and read it one more time.

His apology seemed sincere, sealed with one of his most prized possessions. She glanced at it now. Magic compass. The pot of kohl she had stolen, returned. The sweet smell of flowers filling her room. His words left her a little flustered.

It was hard to stay angry with him, much as she tried. During the moonlit journey back to the city she thought about what she might say when she saw him next. She was already considering a truce, after spending a day away and gaining some perspective. Though she wasn't ready to engage in a tryst, as he proposed, she didn't have many friends here and she missed having him as one.

She was more than a little surprised to come home to these gifts. For a moment she let herself feel giddy and realized that she was already smiling. She kicked up her feet, hugged herself tight and squealed a very small squeal, so as not to wake the neighbours.

She couldn't remember the last time anyone had given her flowers. Jack could be very sweet when he wanted to be. Like that time he stayed up late and cooked her potato hash and runny eggs. Like the time he rescued her from drowning in Port Royal. Like the time he gave up his chance at immortality and captaining the Flying Dutchman, so that she wouldn't have to watch Will die in her arms. He was a good man despite what people might say about him.

She considered taking his compass now and follow her heart to wherever he may lay in this late hour. Her head warned against it. Best to just stay friends. Besides, now that she had stopped moving, her body heavy with sleep, her limbs refused get going again. Perhaps if she just closed her eyes for a moment.

* * *

Jack was in a better mood than he had been in days. After a fine supper at Clara's house, he went with her father, Eduardo, around the corner to a pub. Not one of his usual haunts down by the docks, rather a small place that the locals went to when they didn't want to mix with the blow ins.

"Jaaaaaack," they drawled as they banged on the bar in greeting.

"That's 'Captain', Captain Jack Sparrow," said Jack, fully expecting that none of them would comply with this request, as none of them ever did.

They all knew him, of course. A local boy who'd gone away and now felt more comfortable with outsiders than with the townies. But they knew him best as little Jacky Sparrow, Teague's son. A runt and a rascal. Too smart for his own good. Always getting himself into trouble, but somehow getting out of it again. He had more lives than a cat and better luck than four leaf clover.

It's hard for people to forget who you were when you're not around to remind them of who you've become. Except, perhaps, by the title you carry, which was why Jack insisted that people call him Captain, to remind them he was not just another sailor or whaler or fisherman who goes away to sea.

They knew, of course, of his misadventures and his deeds. They were, in their own way, proud of his accomplishments, but they couldn't help treating him like a child. It was, perhaps, why he preferred the company of children when he came to visit. Because, while the children treated him as a playmate, they also respected him as a grown up.

"A toast to Captain Jack Sparrow for blowin' up those bloody red roses!" cried one of the men. "Take what you can!"

"Give nothing back," called the crowd in return, as they thrust a mug in Jack's hand and raised their own in a toast.

Jack downed his beer to more cheers, claps on the back and a refill. Most had already said their thanks in person since the sinking of Cutler Beckett and his red coats, but this was his first time back in the neighbourhood since arriving at Shipwreck.

This was a most unusual homecoming. People had a habit of cornering him and calling in their debts, or favours. It's not that he didn't want to return what he owed, but most times he was back home for a visit he hadn't a penny to his name and was often not in the best frame of mind for returning favours. More like than not he would be accumulating more debts to repay. But tonight it seemed everything was forgiven. Perhaps saving everyone from suffering through a siege or battle on the island was something he should do more often.

He and Eduardo pulled up stools at the bar. "So tell me about this girl," said Eduardo.

"What girl?" ask Jack into his mug.

"What girl?" Eduardo scoffed, "the one you voted King. The one who's been working on the docks and dining with your crew. The girl you've been walking home at night. The girl who's window you climbed out of last night before going to drown your shame at the Mermaid. For gods sake Jack, you've got the children picking flowers for her. What's she like?"

Jack didn't know where to start. He was rarely lost for words, but Elizabeth Swann had him flummoxed. She stirred him. He was afraid he might even have feelings for her. He shrugged and frowned, "she's angry with me. I did something stupid and she's not talking to me." See, that would be much easier to take without stirrings or feelings.

"Take something without asking?" questioned Eduardo. "I imagine she'd put up a fight. She's feisty by all accounts. Not everyone falls for your charms, Jack."

"I did not force myself on her," said Jack angrily, offended at the suggestion that he tried to rape her. More offended at the suggestion that he might enjoy her struggles. "I wouldn't do that," though he knew he was guilty of pushing her with unsolicited advances. He should have stopped sooner. Maybe she'd still be talking to him if he'd stopped.

Maybe she deserved someone better than him. Perhaps she was right to choose the whelp who put her on a pedestal and never challenged her. No, Elizabeth was a woman who needed challenge in her life. It brought out the spark in her.

Someone had picked up a guitar and played a tune to fill the empty spaces between drinking and talking. They sat for a bit drinking in silence.

"Do you still sail?" asked Jack after a time.

"Trying to sign me up for your crew?" Eduardo replied. He'd sailed with Jack before. As much as some complained about Jack's eccentricities, he was surprisingly successful at finding what he wanted, which meant his crew were generally well paid, if they were looking for treasure and not on some fantastical voyage that had no gold attached to it. "What's your heading?"

"Not sure yet. East or west, either is better than here," said Jack. "Not much pirating in these waters."

"Sooth," said Eduardo. "Back to the Caribbean with you, then?"

"Better prospects there," Jack shrugged, finishing his mug. He felt a bit sad at the thought of leaving. He never felt sad leaving Shipwreck Cove. After a pause he added. "She won't come with me."

"Couldn't keep your hands to yourself? Or couldn't commit to her?" Eduardo laughed, still guessing at how Elizabeth had been offended. "No matter, best to follow the code and let no woman sail among us. They only cause problems on long voyages."

"Hmm," said Jack nodding, though he didn't really believe it. "She's done alright for herself so far." He was probably the least surprised to hear that she'd kept her virginity until her wedding night. Something about her made you want to be a better man and win her fairly, not simply wrestle her into submission. He wondered if would ever be good enough for her. Now that she was married, well, such things as marriage should make a man think twice. "She has the Captain of the Dutchman to stand sentinel over her now. What sailor would risk cuckolding he who ferries their souls in the afterlife?"

Eduardo laughed, "apparently Captain Jack Sparrow would risk it!"

"Perhaps I'm a fool," said Jack, imagining the taste of her lips. He signalled the barman for another beer. "Perhaps she's worth it."

* * *

She woke with a start and shook off that dreadful feeling of death before sleep could drag her back into it. Nightmares again. She had gotten used to them, but it didn't make them any less unpleasant. She lay back taking deep breaths until her heart stopped racing and the knot of fear in her stomach eased.

Orange cat looked at her questioningly, but didn't get up from his spot by her side. He was used to her waking suddenly. He nuzzled under her hand, taking advantage of the moment, for ear scratches.

Jack's note was still in her hand. She held it up to read it again. She didn't need to see it, she had already memorized every line and curve on the paper.

 _I miss you._

Her heart raced at the thought of it. She missed him too. She would miss him more when he was gone. Ruth was right. She was wasting time. She wasted her time with Will and now he was gone. So was her father. She shouldn't make the same mistake again. She shouldn't take these men for granted. _It's a pirates life for me._

She looked over at the vase full of flowers. Some of them already starting to wilt, their mangled stems struggling for water. She wondered what children might have helped to pick these. She hugged her belly and wondered again if she might have a baby growing inside her.

She wondered if her child would see Uncle Jack more than their own father, and love him as much as the other children at Shipwreck seemed to. She wondered if Jack would love her child. She wondered if Jack loved her as much as she... She should stop thinking like this. He was planning on leaving in a fortnight. She was destined to be alone.

She got out of bed, still dressed from yesterday. She smoothed her skirt, picked off some cat hair, and checked herself in the mirror. A mess. She brushed out her hair and braided some flowers into it. She picked up the pot of kohl and lined her eyes. Tucked a knife in her sash.

 _Pirate_.

She flipped open his compass to set a course.

 _Come find me if you want to talk._

* * *

She ignored the catcalls as she strolled down the docks to the Black Pearl. She spotted the captain on deck and let herself aboard.

"I got your note," she said. "You wanted to talk?"

"Franny!" cried Jack, as the two embraced. "Yes, I wanted to talk to you about Nate."

Francesca Maria Almeda Hendriks was a beauty in her prime. She was older now, a little plumper, a little greyer, a few more lines around her eyes. She lived on a farm with her son, Nathaniel. Her husband Stefan Willem Hendriks was a sailor, sometimes fisherman, sometimes whaler, privateer or pirate, but more often than not he was away at sea.

The farm faced the sea. She liked it that way, so she could keep an eye on the horizon. So she could be the first to see him when he returned. It was a three hour walk from the farm, over the ridge, into town. About half that with the horse and cart. People told her she should move into town, but they didn't know what it was to run the farm. She didn't want to leave things to the hired help. But the isolation made Nate her constant companion and she liked to keep her boy close.

"Something wrong?" she asked, "did my Nate get into some kind of trouble?"

"It's not like that, Franny," said Jack offering her a seat on the steps. "He came by yesterday asking to sign up for my crew."

Francesca gasped. She shouldn't be surprised. The boy was growing up. He'd soon be a man. She'd hoped he'd choose to stay on the farm with her, but he was always one with stars in his eyes and dreams in his head. He wanted to see the world. How could she blame him? Francesca nodded, "I knew a time would come," she said. "You won't take him will you?"

Jack shook his head, "no, he's still a boy. Pirate code won't allow it. Most ships won't take boys or women. It's too dangerous for them. And too distracting for those trying to keep them safe."

Francesca look up at him with her crooked smile, "you've sailed with women."

"Not my choice," he said. "I owed Anamaria for sinking her boat. And Lizzie I needed to set a heading. The rest of my time sailing with her, she was already there, I had no say in the matter."

"Really?" mused Francesca, "I heard that you were recruiting a certain lass to your crew."

His face darkened. He wasn't up for discussing this with Francesca Maria Almeda Hendriks. "Don't think she wants much of anything to do with me right now," he said. It was almost mid morning and he'd not seen any sign of Elizabeth. She was an early riser. It worried him that she hadn't come by yet. "Unless you've heard different," he wondered, perhaps some gossip had spread yesterday, while the women were away.

"The gossip's more about you making moon eyes at her," said Francesca. "No ones knows enough about your girl. It's all speculation."

She looked at him and his hangdog face. He was smitten with this girl, plain as day. "You should know better than to bring her with you," she said softly. "Having a woman aboard will create some kind of quarrel among the men, as to who has claim to her. Would you claim her for yourself, though she's married? Would she agree to that?"

He shrugged and shook his head. It was probably best that Lizzie refused him. Franny and Steven were probably the most committed couple he'd ever met. Probably not the best person to be discussing his relationship with Lizzie with. He sighed and sat down next to her, before turning the topic back to her son. "You need to let your boy out more, Franny. He's growing up a little odd. I spent the day with him and the children yesterday. He knows a lot about sheep, but not much about sailing. You can't have a boy grow up here and not let him sail."

Francesca sighed, "I know, I know. Everyone tells me so. I just don't want him to leave me. I don't want to be alone, with Stefan away so much. I know I can't keep him with me forever. I appreciate you telling me, Jack. Not every captain would be so forthright with a boy's mother."

"Well, I'm Uncle Jack here," he said, with a grin. "I have my responsibilities. He's a good lad. He just wants to see the world."

She nodded and got up to leave, "I know. He's lucky to have you around, Uncle Jack, we all are. Thanks again for telling me that he came to you."

He walked her to the gangplank, "some of the children were talking about taking a trip to Samson island, you should let the boy come with us."

Francesca nodded again, "I'd like to think on it, but you're probably right. I should give him some freedom. Send word if you decide to go to Samson. I'm sure Nate will be excited to join you."

* * *

She ignored the catcalls as she strolled down the docks to the Black Pearl.

"Hey lass, won't you give us a smile?" someone called out.

"Lift your skirts and show us some leg!" someone shouted.

"Aw it's Lizzie! Never seen you in a skirt, girly. 'magine you look even better in no skirt," someone jeered as his buddies laughed and whistled at her.

"She'd look good with no skirt in my bunk," laughed another.

"Looking good Lizzie," they said.

"Would have paid you more attention if you dressed like that all the time, lassie," they said.

"Going to see Sparrow? I'll show you a better time than he ever could," they said.

She was fine. That's what she told herself, though her stomach turned at some of their more lewd and graphic suggestions. Their laughter shredded her nerves. It was like running the gauntlet, especially as some of the men became more bold and started following her. She held her head high and didn't quicken her pace, though she could feel the hairs on the back of her neck rise. Her hand stayed on the hilt of her knife. She would not hesitate to cut anyone that touched her.

Gibbs was on deck and noticed a bit of commotion on the docks. It was Lizzie, looking rather fetching in her dress. She was drawing a bit of a crowd, as the workers realized now she wasn't just one of the guys. He could see that she was being surrounded, perhaps didn't notice what a situation she might be in. He quickly exited the Pearl and put himself at her side.

"Mrs. Turner," he said with a smile. He was so pleased to see her again.

"Mr. Gibbs," she replied with the smallest of curtsies. She took the arm he offered in escort, relieved, as the crowd started to dissipate, "please, call me Elizabeth."

"Of course," he said. "We haven't seen you down this way in awhile. Captains got us sewing sails. Bloody hot work with them dyed black and all. What brings you by today?"

She stopped. Suddenly a little overcome emotion, she wiped a tear away and smiled at him. "I miss you," she said. "I miss all of you and it seems a shame that I'm not spending more time with you before you set sail."

Gibbs grunted and smiled, "suppose you might miss some more than others?"

Elizabeth blushed. They'd arrived at the Pearl and Gibbs helped her onto the ship. "Is Jack around?" she asked, knowing that the compass had brought her here. Knowing that she could follow her heart right to him.

"In his cabin, working on charts," said Gibbs.

* * *

"Would this help?" she asked.

Jack looked up from his desk full of charts and maps to see her standing in the doorway of his cabin. She was holding his compass out to him. She was wearing his kohl around her eyes and the same dress he'd seen her in before. He stared at her slack jawed for a moment. Every time he saw her she seemed more beautiful.

He cleared his throat and gathered himself. "Lizzie," he said as he stood, her name sounding more like a sigh than he had anticipated. He wanted to run to her. Hold her tight. Cover her in kisses. But he stopped himself. His feet were of clay. Awkward. Halting. Not knowing how not to offend. "Lizzie," he said again, this time a whisper. His mouth twitching between a smile and a frown before it eventually settled on the former.

She smiled, amused at his hesitation. She was glad for it. "Jack," she said. She walked over and put the compass on his desk. She blushed when he caught her hand and bowed to kiss the back of it.

"I'm so sorry, Lizzie," he said, feeling a little light headed as he watched her bite her lower lip. It would be nothing for him to leap across this desk, scattering his charts and claiming her mouth with his own. "I never meant to..." He never meant to what? Take advantage of her without her consent? Scare her away? "I shouldn't have taken your affections for granted."

She nodded. "Thank you for the note and the gifts," she said. "It was very sweet of you."

"You forgive me?" he asked holding his breath. He needed to hear it.

She nodded. "Yes," she said, a little tentatively, "I forgive you."

His breath came out in a whoosh. He collapsed back into his chair. Relieved.

He was still holding her hand. She took it back and sat down across from him. She looked at him, then looked away blushing. She thought about what it might be like to lay down on this desk and let him have his way with her. But the desk was covered in maps and charts and all manner of navigational tools. This desk was the only thing keeping them from losing all decorum.

"You're leaving soon," she said a little breathier then she planned, scanning his charts and turning the subject to something else.

He nodded, "aye." His foot found hers under the desk. She looked up with a start when they connected. "You could come."

She shook her head. They'd had this conversation a hundred times. She pressed her foot against his. So strangely comforting. Intimate. She'd taken him for granted. Now he was leaving and like the other women here, she would be left watching the docks and scanning the horizon for him to come home to her. It felt bittersweet to sit across from him now.

"Where will you go?" she asked, looking at his charts.

"Still deciding," he replied. "Somewhere where there's treasure to be found. Easier to recruit men to my crew if they think there will be a big payout."

She nodded. She didn't really want to be talking about his next adventure. She was looking at his hands on the table. She imagined where they might wander if she let him hold her. Strong rough hands to caress her. A small shiver ran though her and she bit her lip again. "Will you come back?" she asked.

"I always come back sooner or later," he said. Her knee grazed his. His eyes shot up to meet her eyes, but they were looking down at his hands.

She picked up the compass and flipped it open. It pointed where she knew it would. She closed it and passed it to him. "Will you come home sooner, if this is where your heart calls you?" she asked.

He smiled, taking the compass from her. He didn't need to open it. He knew where his heart lay. Their legs a tangle up to their calves under the table. Their breath a little quicker than what you'd think necessary for two people sitting still at a table. "Makes it harder to leave," he said, with some effort to keep his voice calm and even. "I need to calculate my headings by hand."

"I wouldn't ask you to stay," she said, sadly. "You belong to the sea."

He took both her hands in his. "This sounds too much like goodbye," he said. "We still have a couple weeks before I plan to sail. Let's make the most of it."

"As friends," she said, almost as a question. Almost as if she dared him to suggest a tryst as he had once before.

He kissed the tips of her fingers. "As friends," he sighed, his eyes searching hers for a glimmer of doubt. "If that's what you choose."

"It is," she said breaking his gaze. She found that she had slid down in her seat, his knee between her legs, touching her inner thigh. It was obscene. She sat up straight and realized she'd been holding her breath. "We may need a better chaperone than this table, Captain Sparrow," she said a nervous laugh, avoiding the hungry look in his eyes.

He grinned at her. "What do you think of sailing with me for a day, with a dozen children playing chaperone?"

* * *

 ** _This was one of those transition-y chapters. I find these hard to write. I feel like it's a bit all over the place._**

 ** _The story of Nate and Franny and Steven is inspired by the song "Sonny's Dream". Yeah, that's right, I'm plugging Canadian folk tunes. More to come. I'm in a choir and we did an east coast "kitchen party" theme recently, so maritime tunes and sea shanties abound._**

 ** _Hope you enjoyed it. Funner chapters to come. Please follow favourite and review._**


	19. Chapter 19

_**Thanks for the reviews kcpir** **atey05, River, Sleepy Lotus and Scarlett Woman.**_

 ** _Disney owns the things. Though the delay in getting this chapter out was me getting to know some OCs a little better, while trying to keep the interactions purposeful and not boring._**

 ** _It's another transition-y kind of_** _ **chapter. Hope you like it.**_

* * *

Chp 19

ChingSaoMing was the nephew of Mistress Ching. He led a simple life in Shipwreck City, as most of the locals did after giving up a life of piracy. He worked odd jobs when there was money to be made and fished when there was none.

He fishing boat had been resting on the docks for the past several weeks, while he worked with the crew that was dismantling the ship that the Empress had towed to the cove. They would soon be done and he would have his life back. No more working from dawn to dusk. But the money was good for as long as the contract lasted.

He and his family lived in town, in an averaged house on an average street. He had two children, LuXia (Lucy) and WeiLan (Willy), with another one on the way. His pirate wife, MeiLing, once sailed with his Aunt. Now retired, she spent her days teaching the children; sailing, math, business, cooking, whatever they asked to learn as long as she knew enough about it, or could find someone to help teach them.

"Baba!" His children cried, running to greet him when he arrived home from work. He hugged his children. They were good kids who minded their own business and listened to their parents.

"Baba," said Lucy, the elder child, "can we borrow your boat to take Uncle Jack sailing?" She was hanging off his arm while twisting about on skinny legs, the way ten year old girls might still do when they were asking a favour and weren't yet sure of the response.

"Yes, baba, Uncle Jack said he would spend a whole day with us and we want to take him to Samson island," added Willy, eight years old, an energetic lad that would be more of a rascal if his parents didn't watch him so closely. "We want to show him the new cabin that we built! Can we?"

"Can we, baba?" asked Lucy.

"Please baba, we won't get into trouble," pleaded Willy.

"We promise," they said together, two pairs of bright brown eyes and two hopeful grins smiling up at him.

"Doesn't Uncle Jack have his own boat?" he asked in a serious tone, while holding back his amusement.

"No, well yes, but," stuttered Lucy, "we want to take him, just us kids and there's not enough of us to man the Black Pearl. Clara said she would captain and she's done it before to Samson island and back all by herself."

Ming couldn't help but smile at their excitement. Samson island was easy enough to get to if you knew where to pull in and not scrape along the shallows. The hardest part would be getting in and out of the Devils throat, but with his small boat there was lots of room for error and he knew it was something his children could manage on their own.

"Let me talk to Jack," he said, "but I think it's a fine idea for you to take him out for the day."

"Thank you, baba," his children cheered and hugged him tight.

* * *

Clara Maria Novella was the baby of the family. An unexpected addition, with three older brothers, the youngest of which was ten years her senior. This meant her life was not encumbered with things like caring for younger siblings or dealing with anxious new parents.

Her brothers, like her father, were all sailors of one sort or another. They were the ones that would teach their baby sister how to sail. She took to it like a fish to water. They liked to please her by allowing her to play first mate. It was cute to have their little sister ordering them around. However they soon realized she was actually quite good at her job. By the ripe old age of nine she insisted on being captain on family trips.

By the age of eleven, she had gathered a crew of children for whom she would play captain whenever they were able to commandeer a boat for the day. She was a prodigy when it came to finding the wind. She loved the order and logistics involved in preparing for voyages.

It was still morning when she went down to look for the Black Pearl and Uncle Jack. The docks were not the kind of place you'd expect to see a young girl, but everyone knew her. Most men had sailed with her father or her brothers. Some had even sailed with her.

She was a regular around the docks. Sometimes she would be running errands for shop keepers. Sometimes she'd find work for a day, helping to paint a boat, scrape off barnacles, fix a fishing net. She was saving her pennies to buy a small skiff, so she wouldn't have to depend on others, or steal a boat, if she wanted to sail somewhere.

She wore pants and a shirt and her favourite tricorn hat that was a present from her father when she captained her first voyage. Her hair tied back with a length of black ribbon. She could easily pass for a boy, as she'd yet to develop any ladylike curves, it was easy for her to blend in with the crowd.

The Pearl was easy to find with only two galleons in dock. She was a fine looking ship now that they had patched all the holes that had been blown out of her hull. Fresh black paint made her sleek and stealthy. She'd look even better once they finished her new sails.

Clara let herself aboard and greeted the crew who were all out on deck sewing black canvas. It was shaping up to be another unusually hot day. They were already sweating in their shirtsleeves. Pintel and Ragetti were rigging up a half finished sail for some shade. Mr. Gibbs waved her in the general direction of Jack's cabin.

"Uncle Jack," she cried, striding into his cabin and stopping abruptly when she saw he was not alone. Jack and Elizabeth were sitting together at his desk. They were looking at each other the way grownups do when they didn't think anyone else was looking. Clara blushed and stepped backwards through the door onto the deck. Uncle Jack didn't like being interrupted by children when he was doing grown up things.

"Captain Novella!" cried Jack rocking back in his chair, looking like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. He and Elizabeth got up and walked towards the door.

"Hello, Miss Elizabeth," said Clara looking awkwardly away. She seen Elizabeth around plenty. Mostly down by the docks and mostly thought her to be a sailor like the others, but today she was dressed like a lady and Uncle Jack was looking at her like she was a lady and well, it just all felt a bit odd even though Clara knew how he felt about her. It's not that she didn't like Elizabeth. Not exactly. She was nice enough to all the children. But, well, she wasn't Uncle Jack. More importantly, Uncle Jack wasn't quite Uncle Jack when he was with her. "I didn't know you were here. There were some things I was hoping to discuss with Uncle Jack."

"Of course," said Elizabeth with a smile. She liked Clara. A sensible girl who did what she wanted and was good at what she did. "It's best I head to work now, anyway. There are pants to be hemmed before everyone sets sail. You and Jack discuss to your hearts content."

Jack walked Elizabeth to the gangplank. Clara glared a little when she felt that his goodbye kiss lingered a little too long on her cheek. Jack turned in time to see her roll her eyes.

"What? Jealous?" he teased, walking back to his cabin where Clara was making herself at home in his chair at his desk.

Clara shrugged, scanned his maps and walked the dividers across his charts. Perhaps she was a little jealous. Not in a romantic sense, she was still too young to really have much interest in boys that way, and Uncle Jack was three times her age, but she hated that Elizabeth seemed to occupy so much of Uncle Jack's time and thoughts. Grown up problems, she shook her head and stared at the maps.

"Don't be like that," said Jack taking the dividers from her. "You know you're my favourite little lady." He took her hand and kissed the back of it with an exaggerated bow.

Clara sucked in her cheeks and looked down her nose at him and stifled a smile. She was the farthest thing from being a lady, but that didn't mean she couldn't enjoy being treated as such. "I gather you and Elizabeth have made up?" she said questioningly.

Jack nodded and grinned, "yes."

"So you'll come sailing with us?" she asked, getting down to business.

"Yes, as promised," said Jack. "Do you have a ship and a crew?"

"Yes and yes," said Clara smiling.

"Is there room for more?" asked Jack.

"Who?" frowned Clara, not expecting to like the answer.

"Elizabeth," said Jack. "She hasn't been to Samson island and it would be nice for her to come. She's pirate king, you should be honoured."

Clara frown deepened . She was not happy about this at all. Especially after seeing how they were looking at each other. "We were hoping to have you all to ourselves," Clara whined and pouted. "If she comes, you'll spend all of your time with her."

Jack considered her words. Clara was always a smart girl. He imagined the things he'd like to do to - with, to do with - Elizabeth on Samson island if he was allowed to have his way. But he'd already spent time alone with her once on a deserted island, and she went and burned all the rum. Besides, she wanted to just be friends, so let them just be friends for a day. "Give her a chance. She can be plenty of fun. I promise that we'll spend the whole time entertaining the lot of you," he said.

Clara crossed her arms and furrowed her brow. It wasn't Elizabeth she was worried about. She'd listened in on Elizabeth's story reading as much as anyone who frequented the square, and she seemed good with occupying the little ones with games. It was the combination of Jack and Elizabeth that she wasn't happy with. Grownups could get weird when they were trying to impress each other. "Fine," she agreed reluctantly, "Elizabeth can come."

"And Nate," said Jack.

"Nate?!" cried Clara smacking her forehead with her hand. "He doesn't even sail!"

"Well he wants to learn," said Jack. "He's not going to get any good at sailing if he doesn't get to go sailing. I think this will be good for him. C'mon Captain," he knew calling her by this title helped to soften her up, "be charitable. I wouldn't ask if your crew was working, but we're just out for a day of fun. Besides," added Jack with a smirk, "I think he has eyes for you."

Clara blushed, she thought so too the way he was following her around that field of wildflowers. He was handsome enough... for a shepherd. Uncle Jack was trying to distract her. "If he comes he's your responsibility," she said regaining her facilities. "I'm not watching over him. If he slows us down I'm sending him below deck."

"Oof," sighed Jack. How did he always get stuck with women who were hard as nails? He was a glutton for bossy women. It was his cross to bear. "I'll keep an eye on him and make sure he doesn't get into trouble," Jack relented, but he could see that Captain Novella was not happy about any of this. She was looking sulky.

"Look, they'll be fine. We are going to have an excellent trip. I promise," he said. "If not, I will make it up to you by taking you all for a day on the Pearl, once her sails are done, and we'll see how fast she can go. Deal?"

Clara smiled. She only experienced sailing on the Pearl once and was too little to really appreciate her charms. Now that he'd suggested it, she was sure that she could convince Uncle Jack to take them for a spin on the Pearl even if he kept his promise for Samson island. "Do I get to stand at the helm?" she asked.

Jack nodded, "I'll even let you steer."

"Deal," she said smiling and they shook on it. "Want to be my first mate?" she asked.

"It would be my honour," Jack grinned and sat down with all his maps spread before them. "When do we weigh anchor?"

* * *

Marta Jane Haines lived with her mother Ruth in a building full of people. Lots of women and lots of kids and sometimes men, but mostly not. When her father was home they would sometimes stay at a cottage away from town.

Ruth mostly worked in the cookhouse. Baking was her specialty, if ships brought in enough flour to bake with: ships biscuits, bread, pies, pastries, cakes. The cookhouse also did a lot of fish processing: drying, pickling and the like. They would cater to the local daily needs of the town and fill the stores in order to resupply ships when they came to dock.

Sometimes, Marta's mother would dress up in her red petticoat and prettiest dress and be gone all night. Sometimes she would ask Marta to help lace up her new corset or let her try some makeup or jewelry.

Once, when Marta was little, her mother came limping home with her best dress muddied and torn. Her face a mess with a black eye and a split lip. Marta could tell her mother had been crying, even though she said everything was fine and to go back to sleep. Marta could hear the other women in the house fussing about to make sure her mother was ok.

She was happy that her mother stayed home for a few days after that and they got to spend lots of time together, except that her mother was sad and cried a lot. Her mother made her promise never to tell her father about this because he would worry and she was fine. It was after that incident that her mother found the job at the cookhouse.

When her mother was at work, Marta would generally spend her mornings helping Mary look after little Nicholas, who was much more fun now that he was three and old enough to learn new games. In the afternoons, she would take lessons with the other children in the square.

MeiLing was their teacher most days, but sometimes she would have other people lead them in lessons about things that she didn't know about. Last week, Elizabeth came twice to read to them and help them practice their writing. She took them down to the beach. The older children had slates while the younger ones used sticks to draw letters in the sand. It became a games to see how many letters you could write before the waves came rolling in to wash away your work.

Marta spotted Elizabeth walking past her window and ran out to greet her before Mary could even look up and see the front door swing close. Elizabeth was one of Marta's new favourite people. Maybe it was because most of the blow-in's didn't bother to mix with the locals. Maybe it was because she was pretty, even though she mostly wore boys clothes. Maybe it was because she read them stories and made them laugh. "Miss Elizabeth!" she shouted, running up and falling into step next to her.

"Oh," said Elizabeth a little startled to see a little person clinging to her side. She looked over to Marta's house and waved to Mary in the window to let her know she'd keep an eye on this one and send her home safe.

"It's Marta, Ruth's daughter, isn't it?" guessed Elizabeth. The girl looked something like her mother, but had dark curly hair rather than her mama's straight mousey brown. She hadn't spent enough time with the children to know them well. They seemed to be a large shifting mass of personalities and tended to move in packs.

"Yes," said Marta, reaching out to hold her hand as they walked. "Did you like the flowers we picked?"

Elizabeth smiled, and pointed to the flowers in her hair, "did you pick these? I thought it was a Uncle Jack who picked them for me."

Marta laughed and shook her head. "Uncle Jack was sad that you were mad at him. We said he should buy you presents, but he said he had no money, so we helped him pick flowers instead. You're not still mad at him are you?"

"No," said Elizabeth, enjoying the feeling Marta's small hand in hers. "We made up and are friends again." Just friends, she thought a little sadly. She let herself be warmed by the memory of his firm grasp pressing her up against the hull of the Pearl. She let herself dream about what else they might do if they weren't just friends. What might have happened that night in her room if she let him have his way? She squeezed Marta's hand to bring her back to the present. "What's your favourite flower?"

"Big pink lilies are my favourite," Marta responded enthusiastically. She did most everything enthusiastically, but especially when she was being asked her opinion on something. "Pink is my favourite colour and they are just so pretty, don't you think? What's your favourite?"

"Lavender, because it reminds me of my mother," said Elizabeth. They had it in the garden in England when she was a child. She remembered picking off the tiny purple flowers to dry. Her mother would make sachets to perfume her clothes and linens.

"I don't know it," said Marta frowning.

"It has lots of tiny little purple flowers, but mostly I think it smells wonderful. I haven't seen it growing on the island, but they have the perfume at the apothecary. Perhaps I'll show it to you sometime, when I'm not busy with work," said Elizabeth.

"Where is your mama?" asked Marta innocently.

"Oh," said Elizabeth sadly, "my mama died when I was a little girl, but my father took good care of me. One day I'll get to see her again in heaven."

"Oh," said Marta. She had heard something of heaven but not very much and didn't want to look stupid. They walked for a bit in silence, before Marta's curiosity got the better of her, "is your husband dead? Will you see him too in heaven?"

Elizabeth stopped. The question struck her like a slap in the face. Poor Will. She wondered how he was fairing in his new life - new role. She desperately wanted to see him again and know that he was well.

Was Will dead? Would she see him in heaven? She'd thought about this before. Of course she had. All those sleepless nights mulling over the things she couldn't possibly know for sure. How she might rescue Will from purgatory. How she might stay with him there. But she would have to leave loved ones here and not cross over to see her father or mother.

As a little girl, she had longed to see her mother so badly she thought to kill herself. Doctors poked and prodded her and fed her bitter elixirs to cure her malaise. Priests prayed over her to exorcise her of these demons. But nothing really helped her. She just became better at hiding the angel of death that lived inside her.

Marta was looking up at her concerned. "Your husband is dead isn't he?" the girl asked again wondering if perhaps she was mistaken. "I heard that's why he's not here with you. But some people say he is just away at sea. My daddy is away at sea, and I miss him, but when he comes home he likes to spoil me, so I guess it's ok." Marta could see Elizabeth was upset, but didn't know how to fix it, so she just kept talking, "if he's not dead, I'm sure when you see him again he will spoil you with lots of presents and you can spend lots of time together before he leaves again. Maybe you can sail with him?"

Elizabeth wiped her eyes, smudging kohl on to the back of her hand. God, she was a mess. "Yes," she said, not really answering any question in particular. "Maybe one day I'll get to sail with him. Let's talk about something else."

"Mama says Uncle Jack has been acting strangely because he's in love with you but is too stupid to do anything about it," said Marta. "Are you in love with Uncle Jack?"

That was not the something else Elizabeth was hoping for. At least this topic seized her heart with hope rather than sadness. As improper as it might be, she couldn't help but feel that euphoria of falling in love with someone who might feel the same. She wondered if Jack was the type to fall in love. She smiled, "do you love him?" she asked throwing the question back to the girl.

"Of course! Everyone loves Uncle Jack," said Marta with much vigour, please to see the could of sadness had left Elizabeth's face. It wasn't exactly true, about everyone loving Jack. There were plenty of people who would be happy to see him dead, but in her small world there was no reason not to love him.

"Well then," said Elizabeth, "if 'everyone' loves him, I suppose I must as well."

Marta smiled satisfied with this answer. An answer that would soon spread like wildfire through the gossip mill.

* * *

 ** _Pretty sure they will set sail next chapter._**

 ** _Please follow favourite and review._**


	20. Chapter 20

**_Thanks to kcpiratey05 and River for the reviews._**

 ** _This chapter is brought to you by a Newfoundland folk tune "Lukey's boat". Disney owns the things, though there are lots of OCs in here._**

 ** _Enjoy._**

* * *

Chp 20

 _Oh, Lukey's boat is a-painted green!_

 _The finest boat you've ever seen!_

 _Ah-ha-me-riddle-i-day_

The children sang as they readied Ming's junk in the morning. It was a simple rig. A ketch with two sails, six battens each, the mizzen about half the size of the main. This gave the boat lots of canvas to catch the wind, but breaking that up into two smaller sails made it easier to handle and the boat less tippy.

Captain Novella had her crew assembled and ready to sail early in the morning. They had packed the boat with food and water the night before. The crew showed up with any personal effects they would require for the day. There wasn't enough wind in the cove to sail out this early, with hardly a ripple in the water and the sun not yet above the rim of the cove. Clara had the crew row them out while she manned the rudder. She sang with them to help synchronize their strokes.

Elizabeth held little Nicolas on her lap while manning an oar with her good arm. The toddler was a last minute addition to their crew. Jack was not happy about having someone so young to watch over, but the Captain insisted, as Jack's addition of Nathaniel and Elizabeth brought their numbers to an unlucky 13. Young Nick would be their lucky 14th crew member. He was quite well behaved for a three year old and had been on this boat before. They tied a rope to his britches so that they could haul him out of the water, should he decide to pitch himself into the drink.

They navigated the Devil's Throat without incident. Ming's junk was a small flat bottomed boat that maneuvered well. A great little ship for this young crew. The wind was just starting to pick up as they made it out to open water. The captain ordered the crew to hoist sail and they headed south and west around Shipwreck Island until they could see Samson island in the distance.

* * *

 _Oh, Lukey's boat's got canvas sails!_

 _And the planks put on with copper nails!_

 _Ah-ha-me-riddle-i-day_

It would be a couple hours journey in light wind. A beautiful warm morning on the water. The crew took little time to find their rhythm, but soon enough Clara and Jack had them organized and pulling together.

Nate only got hit with the boom once before he learned to duck as it came around. He was glad that the water wasn't rough. Though he was finding his sea-legs just fine, all the rocking, even in these relatively calm waters, left him a bit queasy. His biggest problem was he was too busy staring at the Captain to fully understand or act on her orders.

A slap on the back of Nate's head brought him to attention. "Don't embarrass me with your mooning," said Jack in a terse whisper. "When you're crew, you focus on your work. There will be time for mooning when we go ashore."

"What are you talking about?" stuttered Nate, blushing hard and feigning offence.

"Don't make me point it out to you," said Jack pointedly pulling him over to the railing. "You'll scare the children. Think about your mother being disappointed in you."

Nate felt deflated. He was a little relieved that Uncle Jack had come to snap him out of his reverie. Clara wasn't a stranger. He knew her from town of course. He didn't really expect to be so taken by her.

Clara had always just been the little sister of the Novella brothers. Those three were well known for their pranks as well as their deeds. She was not someone he'd really noticed, until the other day when he'd asked to join Uncle Jack's crew.

Though not yet a woman, Clara had grown to be quite a beauty, with sandy brown hair and clear blue eyes. But it was her confidence in captaining the ship and crew that he found most mesmerizing. They say that men should prefer dainty, demure women, who would do a man's bidding without question, so why did she send his heart a-flutter with her commanding presence?

"Brace about," cried the Captain. The crew scrambled to adjust the sails as the wind shifted.

"She's quite something, isn't she?" Nate sighed, coiling a rope and hanging it on a cleat.

Jack nodded and grinned. He knew exactly what the boy was feeling. That awkward, confusing feeling of young love that could fill your head and leave no space for anything else. "Go talk to her," he said encouragingly.

"I couldn't," said Nate turning red, "what would I say? I don't know enough about sailing. I'll look like a fool!"

"Trim the sail," called Clara, in their direction, "she luffing on your side."

Jack took the rope out of Nate's hand and pulled it taught to keep the sail from fluttering. Whelp. At least Nate was still a boy, so by all rights he should be acting like one. "Well, then be the fool and let her show you the ropes," he suggested.

"I couldn't," said the boy, in a panic. "She's a girl. And younger than me. And well, she's a girl."

Jack shrugged, "nothing wrong with learning something from a girl, if you've a mind to learn something. Or if you need an excuse to spend time with her."

Nate nodded, but looked lost.

Jack rolled his eyes, Nate was not going to grow up a whelp if his Uncle Jack had anything to do about it. "Go ask her how she finds the wind," he said, pushing poor Nate towards the back of the boat. "Everyone has their own way. It's something she's good at. Even I've asked her the same."

Nate squared his shoulders and strode over to the stern where Clara held the rudder and scanned the water. Jack watched the boy strike up a conversation. He watched until Nate's ears stopped being an unnatural shade of red and smiled to himself when he saw Clara blushing.

* * *

 _Ah, Lukey's rolling out the grub._

 _One split pea in a ten pound tub!_

 _Ah-ha-me-riddle-i-day_

"Douse the sails," cried the captain.

Since they had access to Ming's fishing gear, they decided to try their hand at fishing near some shoals on the way to the island. The children took turns casting the net and hauling it in. They got plenty wet, but didn't catch much more than seaweed and a jellyfish, which was quickly tossed back into the sea by Jack before anyone could be stung. They just weren't strong enough or tall enough or skilled enough to handle the heavy nets.

Just as they were getting frustrated, Elizabeth asked to try her hand. She took a few minutes to untangle the net and get it up in her left hand, took the weighted edge in her teeth and like a pendulum, let the weights swing freely behind her before releasing it over the side of the boat. The net spun out of her hands with an expert toss. She made them watched it drift to the bottom before she let the children haul it up. A modest catch, but enough for lunch and to satisfy the children's interest in the activity. They threw most of them back in and kept the bigger ones in a pail of water to clean and cook later.

"Where'd a girl like you learn to toss a net like that?" asked Jack, sidling up to her with a smile. She never failed to surprise him.

"Something I picked up in Singapore," was her reply. The last year on the water was not one that was very well provisioned. They were always running out of money or food or both. Learning to fish off long boats was not a question of leisure but one of survival.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I caught a marlin?" asked Jack, leaning back, while the children untangled flapping fish from the net.

"It was as big as a horse," said Hermano, his arms spread wide.

"It took six men to haul it in," said Marta, holding up six fingers.

"It fed the whole crew for weeks," said Nate.

Jack huffed, "but how did I catch it? And why! Why did I catch it?"

"You and your crew were stuck in the doldrums," said Jeffery.

"With nothing to eat but boiled shoe leather," said Yasmin, making a face.

"You made fishing line from the rigging," said Lucy.

"You carved a harpoon out of broken railing," said Mosi, fingering the rails of this boat.

"The marlin pulled your ship for a full mile," said Clara.

"Until you were able to find the wind again," said Amir.

Elizabeth laughed. She'd heard the story more than once, with it's ever changing details.

"Tell us a new story, Uncle Jack," asked Willy.

"Yes, Uncle Jack, what's the biggest sea creature you've ever seen?" asked Wakesa. "Was it a whale? I've seen a whale as big as your ship!"

"Mama said once you were eaten by a kraken," said Marta. "She said it was big enough to swallow a ship whole!"

"Tell us about the kraken, Uncle Jack," said Lucy, holding his hand and smiling up at him.

"Did it hurt when you were eaten?" asked Hermano, tugging Jack's short sleeve to get his attention.

"Yes, tell us, about the kraken," the other children began to take up the chant. "Tell us. Tell us!" They didn't notice Elizabeth's sudden change in demeanour, but Jack saw her blanch at the mention of the kraken. She stepped away, her back to him. She gripped the railing with white knuckles.

"Ah, the kraken," he said, with a frown. That story was still a little too fresh and bitter. He had yet to figure out how to spin that tale in mixed company. It was a difficult tale to tell. More so when someone who felt responsible for the incident was present. More more so when said person was someone he didn't want to blame for said incident, yet had somewhat of a blame worthy roll in how things unfolded. He hummed and rubbed his chin.

"Speaking of being eaten," said Jack, changing the topic, "Did I ever tell you about the second time I was on the Isle of Pelegostos?" he mused. "Where the whole tribe had me trussed up on a spit over a nice roasting fire!? But I'm feeling a little peckish. I couldn't possibly tell this tale on an empty stomach. Perhaps if someone fixes me a snack and a beverage I will tell you all about it."

A few children ran shrieking below deck to fetch him something to eat, while he ordered the others to pack away the nets.

"You alright?" he asked quietly to Elizabeth's back, while the children were distracted. He debated putting his arm around her shoulders, or turning her to face him, his hands clenching the air as indecision gripped him.

She turned and nodded, but didn't meet his eyes. He crossed his arms to keep them from flapping. He could see she was hiding tears. He reached out and caught one with his finger, his hand ghosting her cheek. She brushed him away and shook her head. "It's just the wind in my eye," she said softly, while staring at the deck boards.

Hmm, he nodded. Who was he to comfort her about this betrayal? Even if it wasn't exactly her fault, her intent was to leave him for dead. That sliver of bitterness still festered under the surface.

"I should see what they're up to below deck," she said, pushing past him.

He caught her arm, feeling the raised scar of her pirate brand under his fingers. "We're square," he said, reminding them of their pact. She looked at him and gave him a sad smile.

He pulled her close and breathed the words into her ear, "we're square." She nodded and rested her head against his for a moment, then pulled her arm away gently and disappeared below deck.

* * *

 _Oh, Lukey's boat's got a fine fore cuddy,_

 _Where every seam is chinked with putty!_

 _Ah-ha-me-riddle-i-day_

"You're avoiding me," he said. He found her below deck tidying the galley after the mess the children had made.

"It's a small boat, Jack," she replied, "I don't think it took you long to find me." The truth was she was feeling nauseous and, though the air was not as fresh, the boat rocked less down here. She was chewing a small piece of ginger to help settle her stomach. She didn't want to make an issue of her discomfort on this voyage. She was embarrassed to have lost her sea legs already. It wasn't that bad if she took her ginger and slow deep breaths.

He tried not to notice that her shirt was a little tight across her bosom, not that he was complaining. Perhaps it had shrunk or she was finally starting to fill out now that she wasn't doing hard labour every day. He tried not to think about the one button straining against the pull of fabric. Nor biting off said button, to free it from its labour. To release the soft swell of bosom that lay beneath.

"Don't look at me like that," she said, thinking he might devour her. He was standing a little too close. The boat swayed. She could fall into his arms and blame her poor balance. She dropped her gaze, "we're just friends, savvy?" she said stealing his phrase.

"Of course," he smiled sadly, but he cupped her chin with his hand and kissed her cheek gently, letting their closeness linger, "just friends." His breath warmed her cheek as he whispered those words. But instead of pulling away, he rested his forehead against hers and felt her smile despite herself.

Clara cleared her throat, secretly pleased that she had interrupted an intimate moment. They sprang apart looking guilty. "Uncle Jack, you have the helm," Clara commanded. She needed to stretch her legs.

Jack nodded and returned to the deck. Elizabeth leaned against the hull to catch her breath. He watched Clara skip away to join the girls hanging off the rigging. It was easy to forget how young she was when she was commanding the ship. He watched Nate approach her shyly, hands in his pockets, pleased that they accepted him into their group. Kids could be cruel, especially with outsiders.

Jack took his place at the rudder. It was where he most liked to be. From here you could see everything that was happening on deck and you were in control of the heading. He liked being in control.

He looked out across the deck. The children idle at their stations. The older ones, barely teenagers, were chatting amongst themselves, while the younger children were sitting on the deck laughing while playing some kind of hand game.

Elizabeth came on deck and took Nicholas from his brother, giving the boy a break from childcare. She strolled about with the toddler on her hip. She looked radiant. Dressed in old pants rolled up to her knees, a man's shirt that buttoned up the front, she'd stowed her boots in exchange for bare feet. She settled down to sit with the young ones. They flocked to her fighting to sit next to her.

He was pleased that the crew liked her. She seemed at ease in their company as he did. He found himself thinking about what it might be like to settle down and have a family. This vision of him and Elizabeth together with their brood. This domesticated fantasy was not one he'd ever contemplated before.

Not that he hadn't proposed to women, but that was more for the immediate satisfaction of getting them into his bed. This was about the joyfully boring slog of raising a family alongside someone you'd want to spend the rest of your life with.

Bah! He thought, suddenly frightened at the prospect of domesticity. It was anathema to him and his mantra of freedom. He was feeling much too responsible and grown up right now. "Captain," he cried, "let's set full canvas."

Clara looked back at him and back at their heading. The wind was up, but Uncle Jack was plenty strong enough to hold their course. She smiled and nodded. "Full canvas," she called to the crew.

"Let's see how fast this boat can run," said Jack under his breath. His steely gaze fixed to the horizon, as the crew unfurled the sails to their fullest. The boat bounced along the waves as they picked up speed.

"Look!" cried Willy and Marta pointing to the water, there small faces pressed between the rails. "Mermaids!"

Mermaids. Jack and Elizabeth shared a look. They hadn't discussed the mermaids since that night on the dock. A magical moment they they shared.

The children all rushed to look. "Oy, trim the boat!" cried the captain, as the ship leaned with the shift in weight. The crowd reluctantly spread out a little.

"They're dolphins," shouted Lucy pointing, as one and then another leaped out of the water. Racing their ship. The children oooed and ahhed their appreciation.

There was not much in the sea that Jack Sparrow had not seen nor confronted before. Dolphins, mermaids, kraken, what creature of the sea would be his undoing? Perhaps it would be the one he rescued from the bay in Port Royal. She was a siren whether she knew it or not. Something about her called to him and wouldn't let him go.

Elizabeth Swann lit a fire in him that left him as stymied as that whelp Nate to do anything about it. Friends. Just friends. He sighed. Fine. He could be friends. It was a beautiful day. He was going to enjoy himself despite it all.

* * *

 _Oh, Lukey says, "the blinds are down,_

 _"For my wife is dead and underground!"_

 _Ah-ha-me-riddle-i-day_

 _"Aha," says Lukey, "I DON'T CARE!_

 _"'Cause I'll get me another in the fall of the year!"_

 _Ah-ha-me-riddle-i-day_

Samson island was an atoll not far from Shipwreck. A small sandy spit extended like a tail from a height of land full of trees and shrubbery, ringing a heart shaped lagoon. They sailed around the island it's curving sandbars protecting a wide flat shallow beach, with sandbars that let you walk forever and still only be up to your knees in water.

Clara brought them around to the far side of the island, where the water was deep and they could bring the ship in close to dock. "Out fenders," she ordered, as they pulled into a well worn slip.

The crew secured the boat to the dock. They unloaded their food and drink for the day and disembarked.

"C'mon, Uncle Jack," the children

cried as they tugged his arms, dragging him along. "You have to see the new cabin!"

The cabin was really more of a cookhouse. A stove, hearth and earthen oven on one side. The square wooden building was a simple four walls and a roof with large windows on two sides facing the beach and the spit. Inside was a long table with two long benches and a few stools and a cupboard with the most basic of provisions.

"Did you help to build it?" asked Jack, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, yes! Me and Lucy and Jeffery and Mosi helped," said Willy, so excited to show off their work he was pulling Jack through the building to show where they had all signed their names on the wall.

"Well done," said Jack, admiring their work. "It's a far cry from building a lean to when you're caught out here in bad weather. Why you'd almost want to spend the night out here."

Elizabeth wandered around reading other graffiti left by others. Many were names and dates. Others were crude drawings of people and boats and genitals. Some slogans like "tout est possible"; "carpe diem" and "live in the moment" were common. One slogan painted larger than the others read, "what happens on Samson, stays on Samson."

"What does it mean?" She asked no one in particular.

"It means if we do things we're not supposed to do," explained Jack, with a smirk "then we never speak of those things except to those who were here to witness it. It's like 'what happens at sea, stays at sea'. Crews may tell tall tales, but never discuss any debauchery or indiscretions that may have taken place during the voyage to anyone outside of the crew when we return home, savvy?"

Elizabeth nodded and considered those words, that kindled a spark of rebelliousness within her. She was always getting into some kind of scrape as a child. She and Will together. He would never out her, nor she him. She looked over at Jack, who was discussing with the children a quick swim before lunch. She wondered what kind of debauchery he'd experienced and if she'd ever be the subject of a tale left untold.

Jack, stripped off his boots and shirt, "last one in the water is a rotten egg!" He yelled as he ran out the door towards the water, grabbing Nicholas and tucking him under his arm as he went. The toddler screaming his joy the whole way.

The children ran after him, with some stripping down to loincloths as they went. Everyone hit the water at the same time where an epic splash battle ensued. Jack was pulling children off his back and launching them into the water. They loved that Uncle Jack was playing with them. They could just be kids when he was around. He could just be a kid when they were around.

"Where's Lizzie?" asked Jack pausing to catch his breath.

"Still in the cabin," said Amir pointing, "being a rotten egg."

"Promise no one's going to drown in the next few minutes?" asked Jack. The children nodded. "I'm going to get her."

Elizabeth, being the responsible one, picked up the children's clothes strewn about the beach. She was thinking about setting up a wash station to scale and gut the fish they'd caught earlier. She was distracted by the roughhousing on the water. How the children loved to be with him, as he was just a big playmate. She watched the younger children beg for their turn to be tossed into the water. The older children obliging the young ones, when they weren't busy flirting with each other.

She thought about what it might be to have a big family. She wondered if Jack would be as good a father as he was an uncle. Or as good a husband as a lover. Not that she knew if he was a good lover. Not really, though the memory of his last kiss still curdled her insides.

She thought about how it might not be so bad to be stranded here with him. To test her theory. To ignore propriety, even just a little bit. What happens on the island, stays on the island, she scoffed. It was easier for men to make such pacts when the consequences of their indiscretions fell to the women. Men need not take any responsibility if they chose to sail away.

What happens on the island, stays on the island. No one needed to know of her indiscretion. There would be no consequences if she was already pregnant. And if she wasn't, there were those herbs Ruth spoke of... Or if she decided to keep the baby, it would only be a month late. No one needed to know. How could she be thinking this way?

She looked out the window to find Jack Sparrow running full speed towards her. The sun glinting off his tanned wet body. His muscles rippling. She blushed at the sight of him and leaned against the doorframe for support.

"Elizabeth Swann," he shouted, as he drew close, "come join us in the water!"

He was coming so fast she retreated inside for fear of getting bowled over. She squealed when he grabbed her in a big wet hug soaking her. Her arms finding their way around his neck, as much for balance as anything else.

"Elizabeth Swann, come out to play with us," he said childlike, picking her up off her feet. "There's time enough later for being sensible and responsible."

"Jack! Put me down," she tried to frown, but his joy was infectious and she couldn't help but laugh.

"You're already wet, you've no excuse no to come," he said dripping water everywhere. He grabbed her hand and ran with her down to the beach. When she slowed, he threw her over his shoulder and carried her.

"Put me down," she cried, squirming in his arms, but she was laughing so hard her protests were useless.

He tossed her unceremoniously into the water, where the children splashed and hugged her until she begged for mercy. When she regained her footing she battled back, splashing the children until Jack Sparrow, once again, caught her eye. He stood apart amused at the scene.

"Let's get him!" She shouted and the mob of children turn and made Jack their target. He ran. Elizabeth went after him. It took a moment to find a rhythm for running in knee deep water. She managed to catch and tackle him. He rolled and pinned her. As a big wave crashed over them, she pushed him off and slipped away. He found himself underwater with her on top of him

She pulled his head up out of the water. He was red faced and sputtering as he sat up. She slid down his torso straddling his hips. She held him as he heaved for breath and coughed water over her shoulder.

Her legs wrapped around his waist, hands fisting into his hair. She held his head in front of her, "'alright, Jack?" she asked. He nodded and wrapped his arms around her. The were both breathing hard through their smiles.

She looked disheveled. Her hair plastered in wet strands to her face. Her clothes clinging to her. She felt light hearted, until she met his gaze again. Dark and serious and wanting. It stirred something inside of her that made everything feel suddenly warm. She bit her lip and listened to her heart thundering in her chest.

"Don't look at me like that if we're just to be friends," he said echoing her words, but didn't drop his gaze. His hands caressing her under the water. Down her back, past her waist, her hips, her thighs. She gasped as he pulled her closer. Bodies pressed together, his desire apparent. She squirmed a little in his lap, which only made his desire more obvious, as he hissed restraint.

She sighed, resting her forehead on his. "Jack," her lips brushing his as she breathed his name, her voice thick with desire. For a moment the whole world melted away and it was just the two of them entwined in each other's arms.

Clara felt her heart drop at the sight of Uncle Jack and Elizabeth tangled together. It was obvious they had eyes only for each other. Even though Jack said that she was his favourite, she couldn't help but feel jealous. She let Nate hold her hand when he came up beside her. They looked at each other and nodded.

"Ahhhhhhhhh!" Came a battle cry, as the children descended upon Jack and Elizabeth. Soaking them both with their splashing. The children piled on top of them screaming and laughing at their play. Spoiling a moment of intimacy.

"You wanted chaperones," whispered Jack in Elizabeth's ear, as he helped her up and they retreated to dry land.

* * *

 ** _Tv isn't what it used to be, but back in the day you'd have these 80's sitcoms where the writers would run out of steam, they'd do a vacation episode and take everyone to Hawaii or something. I feel a bit like this is me doing a travel/vacation episode... Hopefully is doesn't feel like a total outlier, it is still written with purpose._**

 ** _I also feel the tone and style of my writing changes from chapter to chapter. We'll be going back to broody and depressing eventually, but I hope you enjoy the variety. I think it helps to stave off writers block by using songs and things as prompts._**

 ** _Please review, follow and favourite! I love getting your feedback_**


	21. Chapter 21

**_Thanks to my reviewers: kcpiratey05, River, ako94 and 5dreamcatcher. I really appreciate your feedback and encouragement._**

 ** _I feel a bit like I'm going off on tangents with this story and am trying to bring it back to the bigger story arc I have in mind, but it's more complicated than I thought to get from here to there, so we're wandering a little bit right now._**

 ** _I was also rereading some past chapters a realize I'm collecting quite a few inconsistencies, so apologies for_** ** _that, and especially to those who are reading everything at a sitting. Sometimes quite a bit of time passes between chapters and there is much writing and rewriting and then I get to a point where I'm like "screw it, let's just post this thing." Thus inconsistencies. Maybe one day I'll go though and fix everything, typos etc._**

 ** _Anyway here's a new chapter! Enjoy!_**

* * *

Chp 21

She was cleaning fish and watching Jack build a fire with the children. It seemed they had gathered enough firewood for days and enough tinder for weeks. He had Willy, Hermano and Wakesa trying to get a spark with the flint.

After a time, Jack added a little gun powder to their tinder to help things along. Flash! Bang! Things were lit. He had them feed it more tinder until it was strong enough to light something bigger. He let them play, keeping one eye on them while he chatted with the older boys.

Elizabeth smiled to herself and turned back to her work. The fish were too small and bony to fillet. They would simply fry them up and eat the fish whole. She scrapped the scales off of their catch. Cut off their fins and slit them open along their bellies to spill their innards.

She worked with the wind at her back. It was blowing stray strands of hair into her face, but this way the smell of fish guts was carried away from her. She wiped her dirty, sweaty face against the shoulder of her shirt still damp from her dunking earlier that morning.

"How is it going, Lizzie darling?" asked Jack appearing before her.

"Fine," she said, glancing up at him. He failed to put his shirt or sash back on after this morning's swim. Tanned skin over taut muscle. His pants slung so low on his hips, she noticed an old scar on his right side that she'd not seen before.

She tried not to stare or worse imagine what she might see if his pants slid just a little lower. Seeing him half dressed left her more flustered than she'd like to admit. She looked back down at her work, keeping her eyes on her blade. The last thing she wanted was to cut herself, like an idiot, while he was watching. "Almost done," she said, her heart racing. Act normal. Make conversation. "How's the fire? Looks like you have enough fuel to render a whale."

He laughed and grinned, "the whelps had to show off their manliness wielding an axe, as the lasses came along with us."

Elizabeth smiled. "I see," she said, remembering a time when she was their age, when Will was her charge and followed her everywhere. Poor Will. Always looking a little lost, always trying to impress, to show he was a man. Always seeking her approval. She swiped at her eyes with the back of her forearm.

"So, you get to play chaperone, while I have the pleasure of playing fishwife," she said, bringing herself back to the present. She didn't mind cleaning the fish, really. A dirty smelly job that was almost second nature now, mostly she just wanted him to feel badly about sticking her with it.

"Never a more beautiful fishwife have I ever laid eyes on," he said sweetly. A backhanded compliment at best. Yet, he said these words like a caress. The words spoken not with the flair and bravado she was used to from the likes of Captain Jack Sparrow. Words he would normally use for show. Words to catch other people's attention for a laugh or a cheer or a friendly slap on the back. He whispered these words for her ears only.

She scoffed and looked at him to see if he was mocking. Though he smiled, there was no laughter in his gaze. If anything, he looked a little shy and hopeful. _Never more beautiful have I ever..._ The words echoed in her head and touched her heart. A coded message hidden amongst more mundane words, used to buffer rejection.

She felt annoyed at the foolishness of this scene. What fairytale would have a princess smelling like low tide, with her pirate prince half dressed and sweaty before her? Yet, somehow it seemed like a moment in the story when two lovers should kiss. That somehow this might lead to a happily ever after. She frowned.

He knelt and tucked a wayward strand of hair back behind her ear. She blushed at his touch, taken aback by a gentleness that seemed incongruous with his fierce gaze and the scars and tattoos that adorned him. He was an enigma. A curiosity that drew her attention again and again. She could never tire of him.

She sighed and rewarded his efforts with a smile. "Take these," she said, handing him a bucket of cleaned fish, "I'll bring the rest when I'm done."

He smiled back at her, pleased to see her flustered. "Thanks for staying back to do this," he said, softly, "I'll make it up to you."

Their hands touched as he took the bucket from her. She watched as he walked away and let herself enjoy the sight of him, before turning back to finish her work.

* * *

"Well," asked Nate, when Jack returned with a bucket of fish, "what happened?"

"Is she looking at me?" asked Jack. They nodded. "Blushing?" Mixed reviews, hard to say, could be sunburn. Jack grinned, "good."

The older boys had met him half way back to the growing bonfire. Just on the edge of their teenaged years, they were starting to take a different kind of interest in girls and looked to Uncle Jack for advice.

"But you didn't get to kiss her," said Mosi, Neema's elder son, taking the bucket to lighten Jack's load. They were all a little disappointed to see that Uncle Jack had struck out.

"Ahhh," said Jack, "it's easy to steal a kiss, if you press yourself upon a lass, but what you really want is for her to kiss you. That is what I'm working on."

"Oh," said Jeffery, little Nick's big brother, not convinced, "what's the difference?"

Jack cuffed him on the back of his head. "First off, if you're stealing kisses from unwilling lasses, you will eventually land yourself into a mess of trouble," he said thinking back to not very many nights ago when he'd snuck into Lizzie's room, only to have her rebuff his advances. A lesson he'd been taught by others, but had forgotten and why not let the lads learn from his mistakes? "Especially if she's got a knife in her hands," he added, "or a father or brother or husband watching over her better interests."

He fingered the scar on his right hip. That was from a jealous husband, looking out for his wife's better interest. At least in that case, the lass was more than willing. Too bad she was a screamer or he might have gotten away without the scar. At least he knew she appreciated his efforts.

The boys rolled their eyes, impatient for Jack to get to the good part. "Secondly," said Jack, bringing himself back to his lesson, "the feeling you get when a girl likes you enough to kiss you, or kiss you back, is completely different from just stealing a kiss. You can't even compare them. Trust me, somethings are worth waiting for."

He looked back at Elizabeth who had returned to her work, unaware of Jack's lesson in flirting. He was replaying in his mind a kiss that she had given him once. He spent a lot of time reimagining that kiss while he was trapped in the locker, and where else it might have led to under different circumstances. When she turned up to rescue him with that whelp and everyone else in tow, perhaps his pride got in the way of saying something or kissing her back.

"What you want," he said to the boys in a low voice that made them wonder if he was just musing aloud, "what you really want is the kind of kiss that can stop time. Set you free from the bonds of earth. Be a balm for everything that hurts. Keep you sane when there is nothing sane left in the world."

He was getting a little abstract for the boys to follow, though they really wanted to understand. "That kind of kiss," continued Jack, "is what helps a sailor get through the long lonely nights at sea."

"I thought that's what whores were for," said Nate.

Careless words which earned him a cuff from Jeffery whose mother worked as a prostitute. "I thought you shepherds just take advantage of the sheep on those lonely nights," was his retort.

"Whoring is a perfectly respectable occupation," said Jack, whose mother worked in the brothels and counted a number of prostitutes among his friends, "it puts food on the table for more than one of you bilgerats. But paying for a kiss and having one gifted to you, are not the same."

The boys looked at him a little blankly. "Oh," they said, hanging their heads. They were hoping for something easy and definitive. Paying for a prostitute was just that, but apparently there was more to love and lust. Apparently the benefits of finding a willing partner was not only that you wouldn't have to pay for it.

"So what did you say to her?" asked Nate, looking for some more tangible advice, as he stared at Clara in the distance.

"Told her she looked beautiful," said Jack, with a wistfulness in his voice that the boys weren't used to. He cleared his throat. "More importantly, I said it like I meant it and I meant it when I said it."

"That's it?" asked Jeffery, "just tell her you think she's pretty?"

"And mean it when you say it," said Jack. Elizabeth looked up and caught Jack staring at her. Now he was the one to blush and look away. When he saw the smirks on the boys faces, he cuffed the closest one in the back of the head and yelled, "go on and rake up some coals for those fish, they aren't gonna fry themselves!"

* * *

Jack had Elizabeth seated at the head of their table, or at least the nicest rock in their circle, in honour of her work cleaning the fish. The children unpacked and arranged a feast of odds and ends that their mothers had packed for them. There was enough food to last for days, more so with the fish the boys were frying up.

They ate with their hands on mismatched plates and spat their bones on the sand. They drank water spiked with a dram of rum from canteens that they passed around their circle. They tried to impress each other with their contribution to the feast. All of which Uncle Jack ate with gusto, which pleased them all, as his praise held the most weight.

Marta and Willy sat on either side of Elizabeth, filling her ears with the idle chatter of eight year olds. She'd wanted to sit with Jack, but it seemed everyone wanted to sit with him. Right now Neema's boys, Mosi and Wakesa, had his attention. They were telling him about the time they broke Teague's window playing ball. After a sound trashing, Neema had the boys doing chores for weeks to repay him. Jack was most sympathetic as he'd been subject to Teague's discipline on more than one occasion as a boy.

She would catch him looking her way, smile to herself and turn back to her meal. Pleased that he was thinking of her. Embarrassed to be caught staring. She wished that they were sitting at a table. Surely their feet would find each other under there somehow.

Elizabeth noted that Clara had retreated to the company of her girlfriends, Yasmin and Lucy. Though she kind of enjoyed it, Clara was a little put off by Nate's unwavering attention. Elizabeth smiled at their whispered giggles. She noticed Yasmin trying to catch Jeffery's eye, but he was too preoccupied with watching his little brother who was pestering him for attention.

"Nicky, come here, sweetie," she said, calling the boy to her in order to give his big brother a break and Yasmin a chance. He toddled over with a big smile and his arms out. She stood and scooped him up on to her hip. Her shirt riding up a little in the process.

"Hey," said Willy, poking Elizabeth in the side. "You have a scar just like Uncle Jack!" He lifted her shirt and pulled at the waist of her pants to expose a three inch scar above her right hip. She slapped his hands away. "Did you get it in a bar fight, like Uncle Jack?" he asked.

Now Marta was up and peering under her clothes. Elizabeth twisted away, "excuse me, missy," she chided. But it was difficult to dim the girl's enthusiasm at the best of times.

"It was a sword fight with an admiral, when he was escaping from being caught and hanged," said Marta, running over to Jack and pulling him over to Elizabeth. "Right, Uncle Jack?"

Jack was just realizing something was up, but missed the first part. "What are you two on about?" he asked, while Marta and Willy lined him up behind Elizabeth so that their hips touched. "Sorry," he whispered in her hair, confused at the need for their intimate positioning.

"See," said Willy, pleased that he'd found a match. "Same same," he said tracing their matching scars.

"Hey, stop that," said Jack, swatting the boy's hands away from his side. But now it was his turn to look under Elizabeth's clothes. A three inch scar above her right hip, not unlike his own. Curious. Not concerned or saddened. Not exactly. Whatever the trauma that had caused this, She had survived it. She was a survivor. "How did you get that?" he asked, with the same look and tone as the first day they met. Where did you get that? Was his question as he'd fingered the pirate gold that hung from her neck.

He was standing too close. His hand on her hip. On bare skin. Fingers tickling as they traced along her scar. She closed her eyes and imagined his arms wrapped around her, against the memory of the wound. Elizabeth cuddled the boy in her arms, who hugged her tight, oblivious to what was happening.

She pulled away from Jack and sat down. Reliving the trauma of that night, she shook it off and swallowed hard. "We were in Cypress," she started, trying to decide how much of the tale to tell. "I was in the market and... Got separated from the others. I ...had a confrontation, with a... pickpocket."

Marta's eyes were wide, she hugged Elizabeth's arm with concern, "did he knife you and leave you bleeding on the street?"

"Did you sew yourself up with thread made from your hair and a needle made from fish bones?" asked Willy, excited to hear that part of the story.

"No. Nothing so dramatic," said Elizabeth, glad for the comforting distraction of the small boy fussing in her arms. "Barbosa found me and took me back to the ship. Cotton sewed me up with a proper needle and thread."

"Did it hurt?" asked Marta, pushing Jack out of the way to inspect Elizabeth's scar again.

"No," she lied. Her first instinct to protect these children from the reality of how dangerous the world could be. But Marta's questioning glance changed her mind. They did not have the privilege of a governor's protection. Now neither did she. Perhaps she did these children a disservice by lying.

"Yes, it hurt," said Elizabeth, correcting herself. "But I had the crew to take care of me. It only took a few stitches to see me back together and I'm fine now." She didn't want to scare the children. She didn't want them to worry. She didn't talk about how hopeless she felt. She kissed the boy's head and held him close. She gave her story a happier ending, "I was determined not to let that happen again. I made Barbosa and Gibbs teach me how to defend myself."

Jack sat down next to her. There was more to this tale, he was sure of it. There was something not right about the details. Perhaps he would ask when there weren't children around. "I thought the whelp taught you the sword," he said a little absently.

"Don't call him that, he has a name and you should know better than to speak ill of the dead," she said annoyed.

Don't speak ill of the dead. Well, at least she acknowledged he was gone. That was something. "Apologies, Mrs Turner," he said, "I thought Will was the one to teach you."

She shook her head. She'd asked Will first, of course, but he was more interested in being her protector than to teach her how to protect herself. He wasn't very good at either. He could only imagine her as the governor's daughter. Though he knew 'her place' was always something she bucked against, perhaps he felt he was now the only one who could keep her there. Keep her a lady, where he felt she most belonged and where she should be most happy.

"Will was a bad teacher," she said after a time. She turned to look Jack in the eye, "Barbosa was a better swordsman. It was easier to learn from him."

Something else the whelp was not good at. Jack smirked. "Barbosa's a good swordsman. I'll admit he might even be better than me." He walked over to the giant pile of firewood and pulled out a few of the longer straighter sticks. From that he picked his two favourites and offered her one. "Spar with me," he said.

Elizabeth thought through a series of excuses. She'd just eaten a big lunch. She had a toddler on her lap. It was too hot out. She was a lady. She bit her lip and looked at the stick he handed her. She wondered how he would be as a sparing partner. It was difficult to find a man that didn't either treat her like glass or pummel her for fear of being beaten by a girl. Neither was enjoyable.

"Come on Lizzie," he coaxed, tapping her 'sword' with his playfully, "let's see what you got."

It was that mischievous twinkle in his eye that had her handing Nick to Marta. She was up on her feet, testing the weight of her weapon. She swung it around a couple times to get a feel for it. The balance was off, but so would his be. By now they had everyone's attention.

They walk towards the beach before squaring off. Strike. Parry. Strike. Parry. He was on the attack. She was still getting a feel for the game. The stick was a poor substitute for a real sword. Her eyes locked on his, to see where he might strike next and look for an opening for her own attack.

He was advancing on her, lunging, testing her. She was backing up, giving up ground. He was about to ease off and give her a chance, suggest that she come at him, when his next strike hit air as she dodged him.

He was quick to block her blow. A low strike to his legs. He had both a height and weight advantage on her. She was trying to put him off balance, but if there was one thing Jack Sparrow had, it was balance. He smiled to see that she was getting into the game.

She could hear Sifu's voice in her head about staying rooted. About avoiding the strike and redirecting his energy. She was out of practice and the stick/sword was an added dimension that made it difficult to feel what her counter movement should be.

Back and forth they went for a time. The children gathered to watch their play and cheered their every strike. His moves were fast and creative. Hers were mostly defensive, though he backed off occasionally to allow her to attack and she was skilled enough to take those openings. He was going easy on her, but not so easy that it didn't challenge her.

Feint. Strike. Coule. They were face to face. Lips parted, breathing hard. Eyes locked on each other. Hearts racing. For a moment the world melted away and they were alone. If he were braver he could take her. Drop his sword and kiss her pouty mouth. Make love to her right here on the beach.

She pulled back and looked away. The spell broken. "I think that's enough for now, captain," she said softly, a little frightened (or was it excited?) at what might have been if she gave into his gaze. She tossed her 'sword' to one of the boys, who caught it like a trophy souvenir. She walked back to her seat. Feeling Jack's eyes on her, she put a little more sway in her step, and wondered if he also felt weak in the knees.

* * *

The children had scrubbed their dishes with sand, rinsed them with seawater and stacked them neatly on the shelf. Leftovers were packed away. Jack sent them off to the lagoon for the afternoon. "Come with me," he said, taking Elizabeth by the hand.

She followed him out of the cookhouse and back towards the boat. "Where are we going?" she asked.

"Willy, told me where his father keeps the rum," he replied with a grin.

She laughed, "of course! How could Jack Sparrow get through this day without a proper drop of rum."

He stopped. Pulling her close, he wagged an eyebrow at her, "I would happily stay sober, if you'd care to partake in other adult activities."

She laughed and shook her head, pushing him onward. "Just friends, remember?" she tsked.

"We could still be friends," he complained. "We'd just be friendlier friends. Friendly naked friends."

"Stop...!" she cried, punching his arm playfully. At least he'd put his shirt back on. "It's not happening."

"Apologies," he smiled, "can't fault a man for trying can you?"

They boarded the boat and found Ming's stash hidden in a bench on the lower deck. Rum. Gin. Some kind of rice wine with a snake coiled in the bottom of the bottle. "Feeling brave?" he asked. She shook her head and grimaced. He put the snake bile back and took out the gin and rum. "We'll pay him back," he said.

He uncorked the gin and settled himself on the deck. She realized he was planning on getting drunk here. "Shouldn't we go back and see what the children are up to?" she asked.

"The children are fine," he said, taking another swig. It was good gin. Only a half small bottle. Pity. He looked up to see Elizabeth standing somewhere between him and the gangplank, biting her lip. She looked flummoxed. "What's wrong, darling?" he asked. "Don't trust me?"

She looked at him and looked away. Her arms crossed. She looked back at him and shook her head. "I trust you Jack," she said.

He wondered about the note of sadness in her voice. "Well that's good to know," he said. She stood with her back to him hugging herself. "What is it luv?" he asked, enjoying the warm glow of alcohol spreading through his veins. When she didn't respond he mused, "oh. I see." Then he laughed, "you don't trust yourself! Ha! Well I'll drink to that!" He took a healthy swig and held up the bottle in salute.

"Come sit with me," he said, patting the deck boards next to him. "No harm will come to you. Uncle Jack's honour."

She was annoyed at his amusement. Perhaps he was right. Perhaps she didn't trust herself. Especially not her drunken self. But to prove him and herself wrong, she turned and grabbed the bottle from his hand and took a long pull from it. She sat on the deck beside him.

He grinned. He liked that she didn't sit sidesaddle like a lady. He remembered thinking that when they were marooned on that island together, sharing a bottle on the beach. She had a strange sense of propriety. Following it when it suited her, ignoring it when it didn't. Maybe it it wasn't propriety that was her concern. Maybe propriety was an excuse.

"So how did you really get this scar?" he asked running his finger between her shirt and pants, just above her right hip. It wasn't a bad scar, as scars go. Deeper towards her side. Assuming her assailant was right handed, it would have been a backhanded strike or he would have held her from behind. "Hmm?"

She slapped his hand away and reached for the bottle. She didn't want to talk about it. "This is a very good gin," she said, changing the subject. "It would be better with a twist of lime."

"You don't want to talk about it," he chuckled. "I don't really need to know, but you should come up with a better cover story."

"Not everyone can spin a tale like you, Jack," she said, glad that he wasn't pressing her for details.

"You didn't get this from a pickpocket," he said, not giving up his question. "I've been a pickpocket. A rather good one. We don't knife our victims. We're in and out without you knowing. Unless it was a very bad pickpocket who was cutting open your purse but missed and cut open your side by accident." He took the bottle back from her.

"Well then," she said, "what would be a better take for my scar?"

He thought about that for a moment. "Depends on what kind of image you're trying to portray," he said. "It's too clean a slice to be an animal bite. Shark attacks always make for good stories. Something heroic like taking a blow for someone else, a child, an elder, a loved one. Something that would engender pity or sympathy would probably suit you. Though you are a woman, the fact that you're sporting such a scar would probably engender sympathy enough."

He handed her the bottle and watched her take a pull. Imagined her lips wrapped around something else. He shifted in his seat, feeling suddenly warm. Maybe it was the gin. Maybe it was the girl. It was pleasant either way.

"I don't really know how it happened," she said. "I was with Will in the market. The next thing I know, I'm in an alley. It dark. All I can see is a sliver of dusky light above my head. It smells like sewage. Someone's hand is clamped tight over my mouth. I can't breathe. I'm panicking. I can feel a blade at my throat. Someone is whispering threats into my ear. I can't understand any of the words. I'm too petrified to scream."

"He spins me around and strikes me so hard I fall to the ground," her eyes closed, the unpleasant details of that night replaying in her mind. "My ears are ringing. I can hear Will shouting my name over the din of the market. His hands are all over me. I can feel the blade against my skin. He's undressing me. I'm frozen. I can't breathe."

Jack watched her drink. Waited for her to compose herself. It was a tale that still hurt to tell. It was a story that needed more time. More distance before it could be told proper.

"Next I feel a sharp pain in my side," her story continued. "His knife must have slipped when Will and Barbosa pulled him off of me. I hear the sound of bones breaking as Barbosa beat my attacker. Will is trying to stop the bleeding."

Another swig from the bottle. "After that everything is a blur. I remember being back on the ship. I remember someone holding me still while Cotton sewed me up. I'm not sure how many days I lay in my berth feeling sorry for myself. Then one day I got up, determined not to feel helpless ever again."

"That was a much better telling of the tale," he said. He felt a strange pride sitting next to her. And a familial desire to protect her. Keep her from harm. He watched her drink. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

She covered the scar with her hand. "It's an ugly reminder of a bad day," she said frowning.

"Nothing about you is ugly," he said, taking the bottle back from her. "Be proud of your scars. They're apart of you."

She looked at him questioningly. Sometimes he could say the sweetest things. She wondered if it was calculated.

"Well, you have the scar," he scoffed, "better to wear it with pride than with shame. Pirate king that you are."

She laughed, breaking the tension. "Tell me about yours," she requested. "The truth."

He wet his beak before he started. "Jealous husband," was all he said.

She watched him waiting for more and laughed when none came. Ironic to hear him admit to that, knowing that she too worried about her jealous husband. "Was she worth it?" asked Elizabeth.

He had a bit of a faraway look in his eyes. He took a drink and smiled. "She was a voluptuous beauty who wore rather distracting dresses that showed off her ample bosom."

His brief description of this woman left Elizabeth filled with jealously. She could never be described as voluptuous, nor her bosom anything resembling ample. At least she used to wear distracting dresses, but now she couldn't even afford to buy stays.

"She was rich. Married to an admiral. He was away a lot. She was bored a lot. Somehow she took a shining to me when looking for adventure. She'd sneak down to the taverns and find my company," he said with a wicked smile, remembering her mischievous spirit.

"She was a particularly vocal lover," he continued. "Never had to worry about waking the neighbours or something I suppose. In any case, her husband must have recognized her cries and found us in bed together."

Elizabeth stared at him in slight disbelief. The story was just crazy enough that it could be true. You never really knew for sure with Jack. She laughed and took the bottle from him.

"She did pay me for my troubles," he said.

"Just the knifing or for your other services as well?" Elizabeth asked blushing at the thought of Jack selling himself like that.

Jack grinned and winked at her, "both." He stood and offered her his hand, "come on. Let's see what trouble our crew has gotten into."

* * *

 ** _Well. There was another wandering chapter. It was a bit all over the place. So I tried to thread it all together with the scars._**

 ** _Incidentally if you ever need a great icebreaker for a small group of people that you're going to be working closely with. Sharing scar stories are a great icebreaker. It's a lot easier to remember someone when you have a story to connect them to._**

 ** _I was thinking we'd be off the island by now, but there will be at least one more chapter here... Maybe two._**

 ** _Please follow, favourite and review. I love getting your feedback._**


	22. Chapter 22

**_Hope you're all enjoying your summers. Writing is going slowly so thanks for sticking with me._**

 ** _Thank you to my reviewers 5dreamcatcher, ako94, HannaMi3, Sleepy Lotus and River._**

 ** _I realized i haven't been consistent with my disclaimers. Disney owns the things. But I'm pretty far off canon and there's lots_** **_of OC's._**

* * *

Chp 22

The lagoon was a shadier place to spend the afternoon. The children climbed trees and swung from vines into the water. Jack and Elizabeth quickly found themselves becoming floatation devices for weak swimmers.

She smiled at the sight of him with two little girls hanging off his neck, laughing and trying to pull him under. It was sweet to see them so comfortable attacking a man who could easily toss them aside. They knew that this was play and that if any really harm were to come their way, he would be the first to protect them.

She thought about the number of times she owed him her life. He was a good man despite what people might say. She wondered if he would ever choose to settle down and have a family. She wouldn't have guessed that he would be so good with children, though being a rascal himself, it shouldn't have surprised her that he would feel so at home with them.

Rather than take the precautions of other responsible adults, Jack would urge them up to the highest branches of the tree to launch themselves into the water. Elizabeth waited for someone to break their neck, but relaxed a little when she learned the children did not push themselves beyond their limits and Jack never made them feel badly for trying and failing or not trying at all only giving suggestions for how they might improve.

The girls were urging their Uncle Jack to swim faster. Hanging on for dear life and giggling as he dragged them through the water. Suddenly, he drove. The girls let go and surfaced squealing and sputtering. But they lost sight of Jack.

Elizabeth screamed when something grabbed her leg and pulled so suddenly she lost her balance and fell. She quickly realized screaming was the wrong thing to do. Swallowing a mouth full of seawater before kicking up to the surface for a gasp of air. She was sure this sea monster was named Jack and quickly considered her options for getting him back.

How do you get someone back who's a better swimmer? Faster, stronger, and wouldn't hesitate to call you a sore loser if you sulked off feeling sorry for yourself. She had to catch him off guard.

Walking towards shallow water, she stood coughing to clear her lungs. Jack came up behind her, "you alright lass?" he asked. She answered by turning sharply to elbow him in the chest and sweep his leg. He went down with a big splash. She felt him grasping for her, but she slipped free. She swam away laughing to the far end of the lagoon, taking advantage of her head start.

The children howled and cheered their approval of her counterattack. Jack took a moment to gather himself, taking his time to catch her. He wanted to put some distance between them and the children. A reprieve from babysitting. A moment alone.

She felt a tug. Something pulling at her chest. She turned to see that Jack had snagged an end of the linen she used to bind her breasts. It must have come loose in their tussle. She had doffed her shirt earlier, as it provided no modesty when wet and only served to make it harder to swim. For the briefest moment she thought to pull free. Let him have her clothes while she swam away topless and find her mermaid sisters in the sea.

"Lose something," he asked, smiling as he pulled up and handed her the loose, and rather ragged, end of her sash.

"Scoundrel," she said blushing. She clutched the cloth against her breast. The corner of her lip curling into a smile that belied the fact that she was not annoyed, but rather enjoying the way he was looking at her.

"Are we square?" he asked.

She smiled and nodded. "Turn your back," she said, waving her hand at him. He smirked at her. She was so cute, when half dressed and annoyed. When he finally complied, she set about dressing herself. A difficult task while treading water.

"Need a hand?" he offered cheekily. "It's nothing I haven't seen before."

"Pardon?" she stopped. She should be shocked or horrified, but somehow she felt secretly pleased and bit her lip to keep from laughing.

"I mean women's breasts in general," he clarified, embarrassed. "Not yours in particular." That was not entirely true. He, and frankly most of the crew, had spied her dressing or undressing at one point or another. It was a crowded ship after all, and privacy was difficult to come by, worse when you were worth looking at. But it was not gentlemanly to comment about it in her presence, and though they were pirates, they offered offered her at least this amount of respect.

She smiled. "Of course," she said, not really believing him.

"You know," he said, "in Paris it's not uncommon for women to spill out of the tops of their dresses."

"I think you know my opinion of new French fashions," she said, reminding him of the corset that almost killed her. She wrapped the linen tight around herself and tied it in place. "Alright, you can turn around."

His eyes still twinkling with mischief when he faced her. "Might never have met you if not for poor fashion choices," he said with a wink.

She laughed and reached for him. They held each other's arms to keep from floating apart. Like they had once before. In the middle of the ocean, awaiting rescue after escaping the Flying Dutchman. Close, but not so intimate that they'd kicking each other while treading water.

Strange to think of that now. She thought it might be the last time she would see Will. That time her thoughts had been only with him. She in shock. Grief stricken. She wondered how he was. If he was still happy to gain the company of a father he barely knew. She closed her eyes and sighed with a heavy heart.

"Tired?" asked Jack.

She shook her head. "No," she said, looking away.

He too was reminded of their escape from the maelstrom. "Sad then?" he asked. "You miss him?"

She nodded. "Sometimes I do," she said. "Other times," she sighed, "I feel like I should but I don't. And then there are days like this, when I let myself forget for a bit and get on with living my life."

"Then I'm glad you came," he said, lifting her chin to meet his eyes. "It's good to see you laughing."

She offered him a smile. "I'm glad I came."

He smiled back. "You're going to miss me," he said.

She laughed. His way of saying he'd miss her. "Perhaps," she said. His fingers, still holding her arm, brushed her side when she shrugged. "You'll miss me more," she said. Her way of saying she'd miss him. "You could stay," she nodded towards the children. "They would love it."

"Ha!" he barked. "Stay? And do what? Twiddle me thumbs?"

She kicked him for being so dismissive of her suggestion. "Be keeper of the code," she replied. "Teague can't do that forever."

"Ach. Not for me," he said shaking his head. She knew it was wrong the moment the words left her lips. "Rules and bureaucracy. That's more suited to you."

He was right. It would be something she could do and probably enjoy. She couldn't help but smile that he thought she was a better candidate than himself to take over his father's job. She shook her head. "I've already broken the code by sailing with men."

"Break it again," he said. "You're pirate king! They're more guidelines than rules anyway. Join my crew. The Pearl would love to have you."

"I don't know," she said, breaking his gaze. Flattered to be asked again, to be reminded that he had voted her king. It was strange for men to put women in such high esteem. But then Jack was a strange man. "I need to think about it."

He tucked a stray lock of hair back behind her ear. "Don't think it. Feel it. It feels right doesn't it?"

She shrugged. Unsure. She put a hand on her belly and thought about how sick she felt on the boat this morning. "I need to think about it," she repeated, but she met his eyes this time.

"It's the right thing," he said. "You'll see."

She gasped a little when his hand floated down to graze the side of her breast. "We should go back," she said, but she didn't flinch at his touch.

"They're fine alone for a bit," he said, his hand drifting down to her waist to pull her closer. "I needed a break from them."

"They love being with you," she stuttered. Make conversation. Keeping her tone even, as her heart raced. His hand had continued its slow descent to her hip. He caressed her scar with his thumb. She closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. "I didn't think you'd have such an affinity for children," she said. "Have you ever thought of having your own?"

"Doesn't really suit my lifestyle," he replied. His hand caressing her hip. Enjoying the way her body was responding to his touch. His eyes wandering below the surface of the water.

Her breath was ragged. She bit her lip to hide a smile. "Have you ever thought to change your lifestyle?" she asked, gathering her senses.

He was amused at her determination to maintain a conversation, as their bodies bumped against each other underwater. "Are you propositioning me Miss Swan?" he asked.

"It's Mrs Turner," she said unconvincingly. She didn't stop the hand that caressed her side.

"I'm not sure it is, Miss Swann," he insisted with a grin.

"Rogue," she huffed. But her smile encouraged him to continue.

Hmm. He grunted his reply distracted by the exploration of her curves. His thumb hooking into the waist of her pants. Sliding them down just enough to expose her hipbones.

"Jack," she said, her eyes wide and questioning. She took a deep breath to calm herself. Something to quell the heat building between her legs.

He paused. "Yes?" his voice low. His hands slipped around her sides to cup her buttocks.

"Oh," she gasped, and stifled a giggle. There was a question she meant to ask. Or something she was going to say. "Jack, the children," she protested weakly. She found her legs had wrapped themselves around his waist. Their stillness affecting their buoyancy, she untangled herself. Her hand sliding down from his shoulder. Pushing him away. Just enough to kick back up to the surface. Her fingertips exploring the contours of his chest.

"What about the children?" he asked, enjoying her touch.

"We shouldn't," she started, but his hand had found its way back to the side of her breast. It was hard to breathe. She swallowed.

"Keep talking. We're just having a chat," he said coaxingly. A Cheshire grin painted on his face. His finger running under her bust, along the edge of the linen. "They can't see what we're doing underwater."

Breathing shallow through parted lips. "That's hardly the point," she said trying to be sensible. He nudged the cloth up with one finger. Just enough to expose the lower curve of her right breast. She sighed and arched her back to give him a better angle.

"No, Miss Swann," he said teasing, "that's entirely the point, savvy?" He took her hand gently. When she didn't pull away, he guided her down his torso to the waist of his pants.

She held him by his waistband with both hands. Fingers curled under. Knuckles scraping against the skin of his belly. She clenched her fists and suddenly felt as though she might cry. She couldn't say where the tears were coming from or even if they were happy or sad. But it made her pause.

"Lizzie," he said, concerned. He wasn't expecting tears. He held her gently by the arms. "Sorry darling. I shouldn't have pushed."

She shook her head. "It's alright, Jack," she whispered. "I just need a moment."

"Come on luv," he said, wiping a tear from her cheek. "Let's get back."

* * *

"What are they doing over there?" asked Clara. Looking across the lagoon to Jack and Elizabeth.

"Are they kissing?" asked Mosi.

"No," said Jeffery, "not yet."

"Grownups are weird," said Marta, bored of watching nothing happening. "I hope I never have to be a grownup." She went back to the beach to help Lucy and the boys dig a series of pools and channels in the sand.

"Do you think they will kiss?" asked Yasmin.

"I think so," said her brother Amir. "He really likes her."

"What if she doesn't like him back?" asked Clara.

"Doesn't matter, does it?" said Nate. "Besides, she likes him, you can tell."

"How can you tell?" asked Yasmin.

"It's something about the way she looks at him," said Jeffery, unsure about what that actually meant.

"What way is that?" asked Clara.

"Like the way Nate looks at you," teased Amir.

Clara punched him, "shut up!"

"Ohhhh, so you like him?" he laughed, as she hit him again.

"Leave her alone, Amir," said his sister.

"Leave her alone?!" he cried. "She's the one hitting me."

"Come on," Yasmin grabbed Clara and the two girls headed for shore.

"Girls are weird," said Amir, when they left.

The older boys left standing in the water. They watched Jack and Elizabeth's uneventful looking conversation. Though some were distracted by the girls on shore wringing out their hair and clothes.

"Are you looking at my sister?" Amir asked Jeffery.

Jeffery shook himself out of his reverie. "What?! No..." he lied. Yasmin was just on the edge of puberty. Being a girl, she was starting earlier than her twin brother. Her body was starting to change and it was distracting to boys who had never really noticed her before.

"You were looking at my sister," said Amir. "Stop it. I don't like the way you're looking at her."

"Like what?" challenged Jeffery. "I wasn't doing anything."

"Guys, drop it," said Nate.

"Look," said Mosi, "they're coming back."

"Did we miss it?" asked Nate.

"Naw," said Mosi. "They were just talking.

* * *

 ** _Omg there's so much more I need to squeeze into this day. I feel like I'm running out of hours. I thought for sure this island adventure would only be 2 chapters. At this rate I'm thinking there might be 2 more before we set sail back to shipwreck cove. ... Though this was a short chapter compared to what I've been writing lately. We'll see... I wasn't expecting this chapter's content at all, it was supposed to be a little throw away intro, then I got carried away. Hope you enjoy it._**

 ** _Anyway. It's been a long time since I last posted. I figured this was enough to wet your beaks. More to c_** ** _ome, hopefully soonish as a good chunk of it is drafted._**

 ** _Please follow, favourite and review._**


	23. Chapter 23

_**Just working my way through their day. There are so many things I need to do before getting them back to Shipwreck. I feel like I'm starting to lose the forest for the trees. Still have the bigger story arch in mind. Not to fear this story is going somewhere.**_

 _ **Thanks ako94, kcpiratey05, Sleepy Lotus, HannaMi3 and River for the reviews. Love getting your feedback.**_

 _ **Disney owns this world. I'm just playing around with characters in their universe.**_

* * *

Chp 23

There was a mango tree on Samson island. An oddity for an atoll, especially this far north. It must have been planted by someone a long time ago and somehow survived the salt and cold. It was more broad than tall. It's broad branches full of small fruit.

Elizabeth took her rest nearby. She was feeling crampy, not sure if it was the swimming or something she ate or some woman's health issue, that she was not about to discuss with Jack. It felt good to sit on the ground against a cool rock, with her head in the shade and her legs in the sun, trying to get her pants to dry.

She loved watching Jack join the crew in their play. He was alive with such childlike joy, laughing at their foibles, but never cruelly, as children often could be. He was a master at insulting the boys just enough to keep them in line and protecting the girls just enough to keep them from leaving the games, where today they were outnumbered two to one if you included little Nicholas.

Elizabeth found herself daydreaming about what it might be like raising a family with Captain Jack Sparrow. Would she be alone in some port while he sailed the seas? Would she sail by his side with babies in tow? Or would he stay close to land? Spend his days on the water and his nights in their home, perhaps somewhere on the edge of town where she could have a small garden and the children space to run.

It was just a harmless daydream, she told herself, holding her heart somewhere between cautiously optimistic and cautiously pessimistic. On a day like today, Jack had been nothing but patient and kind. There were no ulterior motives, plots or schemes, outside of his desire to be more than just friends. Today felt free and open and honest.

After everything that had happened since she met him and her life was turned upside down again and again, to feel safe with a man was a luxury she didn't expect to feel today. To drop her guard after being on high alert for so long, felt as though a weight had lifted. She decided that her heart could be safe with him.

She turned her attention back to the tree full of children. All but Nate and Nicholas being sailors, they were used to climbing rigging and yardarms. Climbing this tree was easy, even for the younger children, once Uncle Jack lifted them onto the first branch. They had little trouble scrambling up or across the sprawling branches to throw ripe fruit down to the others below.

When they had picked their fill, the children settled under the tree's dappled shade to enjoy their harvest. Jack walked over to Elizabeth juggling mangos to make her laugh. "Feeling better, darling?" he said, sitting next to her.

She blushed and smiled when she noticed him looking down her shirt. She nodded, "yes, I think I just needed a rest."

"Here," said Jack, "this should be a sweet one." He handed Elizabeth a mango the size of a large egg and the colour of sunset.

She smiled and held it to her nose to smell its sweet fragrance. Pleased to have his attention again and for this small gift of ripe fruit. "Thank you," she said and kissed his cheek.

He blushed. So, the great captain Jack Sparrow wasn't always cool and in control. It amused her to see that she had him flustered. He cleared his throat and looked at her questioningly. "Just friends?" he asked.

"Of course," she said innocently. "That was a perfectly chaste kiss between friends and very sweet of you to bring me this."

His gaze dropped from her lips back to her open collar. To that one button that strained against her bosom. "I should bring you mangos more often," he said, thinking of other round fruit.

She cleared her throat to take his attention off her chest. "You should," she smiled. She pulled out her knife and tested its edge.

"Is the knife for me or the mango?" he teased. He covered her hand with his own to stop her blade. "Here, let me show you, an easier way for these little ones" he said.

Jack held up his own small mango to demonstrate. "First, you need to squeeze it," he said. "Start slow, gentle but firm, you don't want to break the skin." She leaned her head on his shoulder and watched his strong calloused fingers kneading the mango with gentle pressure. She blushed in memory of his caresses. Who would imagine such tender care from those rough hands? Sailors hands. Working hands.

He wasn't expecting her to want to cuddle. She smelled like the sea and sunshine. He wanted to kiss the golden highlights in her hair. She turned him inside out. He didn't quite feel himself. He felt like a better version of himself, like he must be doing something right to have her smiling at him and resting her chin on his arm and looking at him like he someone was worth looking at. He was terrified that he would do something wrong and find her walking away from him again.

They massaged their fruit until the flesh turned liquid and the pit turned freely inside its skin. "Next," he continued, "bite a small hole in the end and suck out the pulp." He watched her puncture the mango's skin with perfect teeth and purse her lips to draw out the fruit. A darting tongue to catch a squirt of juice. He thought back to her willing kisses and wanted another taste of those lips.

They sucked pulp and juice out of mango skins, until nothing was left but a flat pit inside. Less work than peeling, especially for these small fruit, but still messy with the thin skins bursting unexpectedly in a sweet explosion of tropical fruit.

The children ate their fill until mango juice was dripping down their arms and faces. "Ach, ye pack of dirty urchins! Go for a swim to clean up, the lot of you," ordered Jack, frowning at the children's dirty mugs and sticky fingers. They laughed and obliged, diving into the lagoon to cool and wash off any traces of their meal.

Jack and Elizabeth stood under the tree watching the children. "You've a little mango on your face," he said pointing. He was mesmerized as she ran her tongue around slowly around her lips to catch the drips of sweet juice. Jack grimaced, shook his head and pointed again. She smiled a little awkwardly at him, trying to guess where he was looking.

"Here let me," he said. His hands no cleaner for wiping her face. He leaned in and kissed the offending fruit from corner of her mouth. A chaste, but lingering kiss. A question. A parley.

Surprised, she was left breathless and wanting when he pulled away. "Jack," she sighed. A question or a request? The kind of sigh that made him weak and he braced himself against the tree. "A little more friendly than just friends, don't you think?" she whispered, disappointed that he had stopped. Their faces so close he could feel her breath as she spoke.

"Just being helpful, luv" he said, in his defence. He turned his head to hide a sheepish grin.

"Of course," she smiled, "such a gentleman. Why if you were a pirate, one might think you were stealing kisses." Her hands finding his waist to pull him closer.

That was unexpected and it made him bold. "Now," he mused, "perhaps if I'd kissed you like this, it would be more than just friendly or helpful..." he pulled her in for another kiss to demonstrate. A little more forceful. He felt her smiling. "Don't ruin it," he warned against her giggles.

What a ruse, she thought with a laugh. It was so perfect. On this perfect day. It had been too long since she felt this happy and light. To feel safe and loved. Whatever that might mean. She didn't want think about anything beyond this moment. This kiss. These arms that held her.

"Scoundrel," she said as she put her arms around his neck to kiss him back. Her lips parted. She tasted like mangos. He felt joyful. He felt the light headed euphoria you feel when you first fall in love and find out they love you back. This was the feeling he was trying to explain to the boys. Now it was his turn to laugh. He couldn't help himself. "Don't spoil it," she whispered.

"Siren," he said, putting his arms around her and kissed her silly, knowing that she shared his joy.

* * *

Nate was the first to see it. "Hey," he said, tapping Mosi to get his attention. He pointed with his chin at Jack and Elizabeth.

"Oh, yea," he said, as the other children started to gather to spy the grownups kissing.

"It's about time," said Marta, with her hand on her hip in exaggerated exasperation. She was secretly pleased to have something exciting to report back to her mama. The younger kids quickly bored of watching and went back to their play, but the older ones stood mesmerized.

"When do you breathe?" asked Clara to no one in particular. The whole scene had her feeling a little jealous, a little disgusted and a little fascinated. "Is it like swimming?"

"I don't see them coming up for air" said Mosi, who had a bit of a crush on Elizabeth. He had been finding excuses to hang around his mother's shop in order to spend more time in Elizabeth's presence.

"Where do noses go?" asked Amir, genuinely concerned as he had a rather large one of his own.

"You're supposed to turn your head," said Nate, looking over at Clara. He wondered if he might ever muster the courage to kiss her.

"Are they talking?" asked Amir. "Are you supposed to talk when you're kissing someone?"

"Ugh," cried Clara, horrified and transfixed by the scene. "What's he doing to her neck?"

"Is she laughing?" asked Mosi. "Oh, she see us."

"Don't wave!" said Amir, slapping Mosi's arm down. "Pretend you're not looking."

Jeffery was interested as anyone in seeing Uncle Jack win over Miss Elizabeth. It was clear to see that they fancied each other, though it seemed that there was more to it than just that. He didn't understand what that was, or why it had taken so long for them to get to this point.

Even as the others were chattering about the scene Uncle Jack was making, Jeffery found himself distracted by the sight of Yasmin. She was wearing a choli, that covered her shoulders and chest, but left her midriff bare, and loose flowing pants that gathered at the ankles. Though having gone swimming, everything was wet and clinging, leaving little to the imagination.

He couldn't remember a time when he didn't know her. Mostly he thought of her as Amir's sister. He was about a year older than the twins. They all grew up together on the island. Played together as children. But now there was something different about her and he found himself staring.

Yasmin had always been the pretty one. Her mother, a dancer, taught her from a young age to move with grace. She looked up now and caught his gaze. He blushed and looked away.

Jeffery was of questionable parentage having been conceived sometime when the port was full and the brothels were busy. An organized Madame could arrange for three of four men a night, possibly more during the day if the men were idle. Mary was a petit blonde lass with a shy smile and submissive bearing. She was a popular choice especially when she was young and motherhood had yet to change her body.

He was darker than his mother with olive skin, dark brown hair and hazel eyes. It was his eyes that made most think that his father must have been from a Persian ship that had docked around that time. This ship was full of hard bodied men with eyes that made the women swoon. They had taken full advantage of all the recreational opportunities at Shipwreck, as they arrived with a ship full of gold, which the denizens of Shipwreck were more than happy to relieve them of.

It was Yasmin's turn to blush when Jeffery looked back at her and found her still staring. She turned away, but not before giving him a shy smile. Jeffery was left wondering if she might share his attraction.

* * *

"Jack," she whispered, "the children..." He was kissing his way down her neck. His hands freeing that button that he'd found so distracting. His caresses, a firm but gentle pressure, that turned her insides to liquid.

"The children are fine," he whispered into her shoulder.

"Their watching us," she warned. "Their waving," she giggled.

"Let them watch," his response, a low growl that made her feel faint.

"Jack," she laughed, "please..." She pushed him away. He let her go disappointed. She kissed his frown and held his hands.

"Uncle Jack," came a cry from the water.

He kissed her one last time, "we are not finished here, Lizzie."

She smiled at the use of her pet name. No one ever called her that but Jack. She liked that. It felt like something of a gift.

"Uncle Jack," came the cry again.

He sighed and turned his attention to the children. "Chaperones, great idea," he sighed.

* * *

It was Clara calling him. She was the first to see it for what it was. Being situated with the westerlies to the north and the north east trade winds to the south, made this area a difficult place to read the wind.

"Can you smell the storm coming, Uncle Jack?" asked Clara, as she and Jack climbed the ridge for a better view. The wind was picking up and a dark cloud was moving in quick from the horizon. There were white caps on the open water and they were only getting rougher with this storm brewing.

"We'll need to leave soon if we're to make it back before dark," said Jack. "I don't think it's a good idea to take this crew out on waters that rough. What's your assessment, Captain Novella?"

"Maybe we could do it if you took the helm. I wouldn't be strong enough to hold her in these waves," she said. "I don't want to sail through the Devils throat in the dark. There are bats. I don't like bats."

"Options, captain?" he asked, having already formed his own opinion.

"Not many," she said. "We wait out the storm and hope it's short, but even then the seas may be rough. We'll risk sailing rough waters in the dark on a borrowed ship and a novice crew. Better we hunker down in the cabin and try our luck in the morning." She looked up to see Jack's reaction to her assessment.

He smiled and put his arm around her, "you're going to be a great captain one day when you have your own ship. Perhaps you'll let me join your crew in my old age."

She hugged him around the waist and smiled. "It's decided then. We stay and weigh anchor in the morning."

They picked their way back down to the others. Clara's curiosity got the better of her. "Uncle Jack," she asked, "do you love Miss Elizabeth?"

"What?" he said. Not ready for this conversation. "Why do you ask?"

"Well you were kissing," she started, though it wasn't just that. She'd seen Uncle Jack kiss other women. Really, when he was feeling jolly and drunk, he was quite free with his kisses. "And well, you seem happy when she's around. And well, there's something about the way you look at each other."

Jack was not ready to use that word. Love. The only thing he ever professed to love were freedom, the sea and the Black Pearl. Loving a woman was too complicated, and in most cases threatened his other loves. Like freedom.

"I'm very fond of Lizzie," he said. "In many ways she reminds me of you. And I am very fond of you, savvy?"

"I'm very fond of you too, Uncle Jack," she said. Something about conversation left her feeling sad. The kind of sad that left a gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach and made her eyes itch.

Jack pulled Clara into a hug and kissed her head. She hugged him back. He thought to say something pithy about the difficulties of growing up, or to tease her about breaking hearts. But the words didn't come to him. Maybe they didn't need words.

* * *

 _ **Have I lost you yet? Everyone's making eyes at every else? This is like 23 chapters of foreplay. At least Jack and Elizabeth are finally having some fun with it.**_

 _ **I stole a line from Sleepy Lotus who always has Jack kiss Lizzie silly. I thought it appropriate given the giggles they were having.**_

 _ **I learned the mango eating trick from a friend from Ecuador, whose mother used to sit her outside with a shower curtain pinned around her neck and a bowl full of mini mangos. There was nothing sexy about it when I learned this trick. But if you put your mind to it you can make anything sound sexy, no?**_

 _ **Please follow, favourite and review!**_


	24. Chapter 24

**_Thanks to HannaMi3, Sleepy Lotus, River and Smile Back for the reviews. Your feedback is always appreciated and a source of encouragement._**

 ** _I don't own the things, Disney does._**

* * *

Chp 24

The rain had already started by the time Jack and Clara reached the beach. Big warm heavy raindrops that splashed down on them before the clouds could even block out the sun. It was by all measures torrential. Even the sheltered waters of the lagoon were whipped up by the force of the storm.

The rain lashed at them, wild winds swirling, the surf pounding the shore. The sea a roaring fury, Calypso unbound, was as fierce as she was unpredictable. She could call up a storm out of nowhere and choose at random who would live and who might join her in a watery grave. The difference between living and dying was as much about luck as skill. Sailors were superstitious for good reason.

Some of the children ran for cover in the cabin, while others ran defiant along the beach revelling in the power of her tempest. They spun in the wind with their arms outstretched, dancing along the edge of the surf, and howled at the sea. Jack and Elizabeth join them in their revelry.

They stood in the sand and shouted their song, laughing defiant, into the wind. Dancing back as the waves, high as their waists, came crashing along the shore.

 _It's windy weather boys, stormy weather, boys_

 _When the wind blows we're all together, boys_

 _Blow ye winds westerly, blow ye winds, blow_

 _Jolly sou'wester, boys, steady she goes._

Elizabeth felt she had become one with the elements. She felt primal. Filled with the power of the raging waters. Everything civilized and proper seemed fragile, tenuous at best, when something as arbitrary as a stormy sea could carry you away in a flash and the only thing stopping it was your will, your wits and your luck.

She sang as heartily as any of them. Dancing hand in hand and arm in arm. She sang until she might lose her voice from shouting above the gales. They ran along the waters edge with their arms flung wide.

She sang until something caught her eye that made her pause. She fell behind as the others danced ahead. There was something in the water. Or someone? She was slow to jump back when a wave hit her hard and pulled her feet out from under her.

 _Blow ye winds blow_

 _we're all together... girls_

For a moment there was a warm stillness. She heard their voices singing underwater. She felt the churn of the waves pressing against her body. The undertow coaxing her far out to sea. She could let go of this world and slip away.

But someone was calling her back. Her name. Frantic. Jack. She wasn't ready to leave just yet. She wasn't ready to leave him.

She scrambled back up onto the beach. Coughing and heaving to rejoin the world of the air breathing. Steady on her feet she looked back at the sea and wondered if she chose right.

A concerned Sparrow was chirping in her ear, pulling her away from the shore and holding her tight. "Careful lass, thought you'd taken your leave is us," he said into her ear. "Calypso's having her fun today."

But she was wiping the rain out of her eyes and searching the waves for something. "Did you see them?" she asked, distracted as she scanned the surf.

"See what?" asked Jack, following her gaze into the horizon. There was nothing but wave upon wave rolling towards them. The sky so black it felt more like dusk than mid afternoon.

Mermaids, she was sure of it. She saw them. She heard them. Singing with her. Again. They were gone. "Nothing," she said. "I thought I saw..." But she decided not to elaborate. She'd not seen them since that night on the dock. Perhaps she'd been in the sun too long. She shook her head. "It was nothing. I'm seeing ghosts."

She turned in his arms to face him. He was frowning at her, the same look her father used to wear when he worried about her taciturn nature after her mother died. The sunny climes of Jamaica were to cure her of her malaise, but perhaps she just became better at hiding her pain.

She smiled at Jack and kissed his cheek to hide her thoughts. That something was calling her into the sea. To distract him and pretend that everything was fine. She was not seeing things, nor hearing things, nor losing her mind.

Jack pulled back, "you're sure it's nothing?"

She nodded and kissed him again, this time on the lips. Jack was hesitant, but she opened her mouth and sighed, coaxing him with her tongue. The rain running in rivulets down their bodies. He kissed her back, accepting her distraction from his concern.

Her kisses slow and deep, determined to push away disturbing thoughts of mermaids, real or imagined, or Calypso calling her to the sea. Her arms wrapped around his neck. She let him search her mouth with his tongue. She let his hands wander. She let him set her aflame until she no longer felt the wind and the rain, but only this heat that consumed her.

* * *

"Do you think they'll ever come inside?" asked Willy watching Jack and Elizabeth kissing in the rain. The children had tried of playing in the storm and went indoors to dry off.

"I wonder if their lips get tired," said Hermano. "I don't think I've ever seen anyone kiss for that long. Not even my brother Diego, and he's always bringing home some girl to kiss."

"We should probably start a fire," said Clara, wringing out her hair, "or we'll never get dry and get wet rash."

"Or ringworm," said Willy, who had gotten that once before. "We really should get out of these wet clothes," he added wisely.

Nicholas was already helping himself out of his clothes and tripping about with his pants half off. His big brother caught him up. "Whoa, boy-o! Let's give you a hand with that," he said pulling off the toddler's shirt and wringing it out, while Nicholas kicked his pants off all by himself.

Clara and Yasmin were crouched by the stove sparking some tinder. "Let me go out and get a couple logs before they're all soaked in this wind," said Yasmin. The firewood was piled neatly under a roof, but that wouldn't keep things dry with the rain swirling sideways.

"Let me help you," said Jeffery, having settled his naked brother with Marta who was used to helping Mary with the babysitting.

"Hi," said Jeffery when he caught up to Yasmin at the woodpile. He thought maybe he should say something else. But couldn't think of anything else to say. So he stood there with his hands in his pockets, tongue tied.

"Hi," she said, smiling at his awkwardness, pink to the ears, staring at her while standing shirtless in the rain. "Are you going to help me?" she asked finally, pulling out logs.

"Umm, yeah, of course," he stuttered, making a cradle of his arms for her to stack wood. His ears going from pink to red when her hand brushed his arm, though she didn't seem to notice.

They walked back together. Yasmin went back to the stove to help Clara light damp tinder. He felt stupid for not being bolder. For bungling a chance to be alone with her. All he could say was 'hi'. He felt like an idiot. Yasmin looked up at him and he looked away blushing.

* * *

By the time Jack and Elizabeth were done doing whatever it was that grownups do while standing in the pouring rain and came inside, the children had things well in hand. They had doffed what wet clothes they didn't need, and strung them up on lines around the stove.

Those who had stripped before jumping in the water, put on what dry clothes Elizabeth had gathered from the beach and folded neatly on the bench. They'd even strung up a curtain of sorts, made from an old blanket to provide a little privacy between the girls and the boys so that they could strip down and wring out what wet clothes they still chose to wear.

"Well," smiled Jack, when he entered, "this is down right cosy." The children were only too pleased to have his praise.

He stripped off his shirt, wrung it out and hung it on the line. He took a moment behind the blanket to wring out his pants and put them back on. Pulling on damp pants was most unpleasant. Elizabeth followed his lead. She'd already spent most of the afternoon swimming with her shirt off, no sense getting prudish now.

"Elizabeth, come sit with us," cried Lucy. "Let me braid your hair and it will come out wavy when it dries." Lucy and Marta were almost done working Wakesa's loose Afro into neat twists. The boy seemed to enjoy their efforts.

Elizabeth saw that Jack had been commandeered by young Nicholas. The boy had climbed into Jack's lap and was toying with his rings and trinkets. She sat on the floor at Lucy's feet and watched Jack play with the boy. He entertained him with little tales about each bauble, scar and tattoo. She could feel herself falling in love with the swarthy pirate all over again.

Lucy combed out Elizabeth's hair and divided it into sections. Her methods were organized and systematic. Something she got from her mother through nature or nurture, Lucy love things to be logical and orderly.

"What's this?" asked Wakesa quietly, touching the back of Elizabeth's shoulder. He was sitting next to her, watching Lucy braid her hair. "Is it a mistake? My mama has one like this. She says it was a mistake."

It took Elizabeth a moment to realize what he was talking about. Her scar. No one ever talked about it. It was normally hidden under clothes and had healed to a shiny white, which was barely noticeable most times, but with today's sunburn it stood out in stark relief.

It took her another moment to realize that Neema had the same mark. A slave brand. Likely not an administrative mistake as hers was. The gravity of that reality sank in slowly and she felt compelled to give the boy a hug before she answered.

She thought back to her life in Jamaica. Had they kept slaves? No, she was responsible for the books. All of the house staff were paid. She was sure of it. But she didn't keep the books for her fathers other business ventures. There were plantations. She closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to admit to her part in this heinous practice.

"Yes," she said, kissing Wakesa's cheek and smoothing down the new twists in his hair, "your mama's right that it was a mistake. No one should ever be marked like this."

"Uncle Jack saved her," said the boy. "That's why mama says Uncle Jack is her hero. Isn't that right Uncle Jack?" He added the last bit loudly to get Jack's attention.

Jack looked up from the naked toddler in his arms, and Marta chattering in his ear about jellyfish, "what's that?"

"Mama says you're her hero," the boy repeated. "Because you didn't let the bad men take her away when they caught her and marked her like this," he said, tapping Elizabeth's shoulder.

Jack got up with the toddler tucked under his arm. "What mark?" he asked, an edge of anger or annoyance in his voice. He was surprised that this was the first he was hearing about it. He should have known. He should know every inch of her. He would know every inch of her if she let him. He would memorize her lines. The sight and the touch and the taste of her.

"It's nothing," said Elizabeth, not meeting his eyes, "it was a mistake. An error." Jack hissed when he saw the brand. A white circle against the pink of her sunburn. She pulled away from his touch and took the squirming babe from his arms. She needed a distraction and this boy was cranky for lack of a nap. She put him in her lap and kissed his face until he laughed and kissed her back.

"Stop squirming or they'll come out crooked," chided Lucy, tugging on a braid.

Jack hated that this had happened to her. Worse, he hated that he might have some part in landing Elizabeth in such a situation. He traced the mark gently with the tips of his fingers. "Where did you get this? Why didn't you tell me?" he asked, his tone angrier than he meant for it to be.

"What's to tell?" she said shrugging him off, annoyed at his concern after all this time, and put off by his tone. As if this was something she wanted. If he cared to know what she'd gone through to bring him back, he could have asked. It didn't matter. It was her penance. They were square.

He looked at her apologetic. "I didn't know," he said. "I'm sorry."

"What do you have to be sorry about?" she asked, annoyed. "That was a mistake," she explained. "They gave me this the same day," she said showing her pirate brand. "This, you can claim some credit for," she added, without any sadness or anger in her eyes. The boy traced the mark on her arm and dug his little fingers into it.

"I'm sorry for that too," he said, swallowing. He wondered if they really were square.

She shook her head, dismissing his apology. She looked up at him, "why didn't you tell me about rescuing Neema?" she asked, changing the subject. It didn't really surprise her that he would do such a thing. Rather, it confirmed her suspicions about his nature. That he was a good man. Fair and just and compassionate, despite what others might say. For someone with a reputation for self preservation, he had quite a history of selfless acts.

"Never came up. You never asked," he said settling down on the floor next to her. He took her hand in his and kissed the back of it. She let him, but took her hand back he was done. "Besides, I can't tell her story, you can ask her about that. I can only say my part of it."

"Oh, tell us a story Uncle Jack," said Clara, settling down on Jack's other side.

"Yes," said Lucy, pinning up another braid, on Elizabeth's head, "you were going to tell us about the Kraken."

Bugger, he thought, he was hoping they'd forget about that. "Well," he sighed, as the children fell silent and gathered around him, "interestingly enough these stories are from the same thread." He cleared his throat. He was stalling while he gathered his thoughts. You can't rush a good story. "Where's that bottle of rum? I can hardly tell a story when I'm so parched," he complained.

Mosi was the first to spot the bottle and passed it to Jack. He'd heard the story of how Jack had rescued his mother many times by many tellers, but the part about the Kraken was new and he was curious as anyone to hear those details.

When Jack was properly hydrated he began, "many years ago I used to captain a ship for the East India Company."

The children booed. Though they didn't understand the politics, they understood enough to know that the EIC was their enemy. Clara hushed them so that Jack could continue.

* * *

Well, I wasn't always a pirate. Tried to live above board in my youth, after I ran away from Shipwreck. Didn't have me own ship, so I found work with the EIC. Sailed the seas and got paid a wage for it. It wasn't a bad deal for me.

In fact, I did very well in the job. After a few years of moving up the ranks of the company, Cutler Beckett offered me my own ship. I had a choice of the Marlin, a slave ship, or the Wicked Wench, an old cargo ship.

With my penchant for wenches, especially wicked ones, and my distaste for live cargo, it was an easy choice. Me and the Wicked Wench had many years together and many a fine journey sailing around to all the colonies and finding a few uncharted lands of our own.

In fact, it was my refusal to give the precise location of such an uncharted place that first landed me in trouble with Beckett. The lost island of Kerma. Beautiful spot that I thought ought not to be pillaged by the likes of the EIC. They were a noble and generous people. Who helped us out when the Wicked Wench was in a bind.

But back to this story. So Beckett was in a rage and was pressuring me to take a boatload of slaves to Barbados. To sweeten the pot he offered to sell me the Wench for a shilling if I performed this duty. I was young and foolish and couldn't see my way out of it, so I agreed.

It was a terrible sight to see people treated as cargo. Chained up and packed into my hold so tight they would have to sleep standing up. Not to mention the logistics of feeding, watering and toilet.

They'd been on board less than two hours before I couldn't take it anymore. It hurt my soul to see people striped of all dignity and freedom. People who had done nothing to deserve such treatment. There was no justice in the matter. I freed them from their chains and the hold. It would have taken a month in fair winds to reach Barbados. I can't even imagine what that would be like for them.

Lucky for everyone involved, Kerma Island was less than a week away. We made it there in three days. The people of Kerma took in these refugees with open arms. Your mother, Neema, was one of them. How she got from there to Shipwreck is her own story to tell.

In the meantime, Beckett was in a rage (again) and had me imprisoned, branded a pirate and sentenced to hang. But worse of all he set me sweet old ship on fire and made me watch her burn just to rub it in. She did nothing to deserve that. He did it just to hurt me. They should have branded him a pirate for destruction of company property, but I'm sure he just wrote it off as an accident.

I broke free, drove into the ocean and tried to save me beautiful ship from the flames. She was already too far gone. A beam came down on me heavy and I knew it was to be my end. Next thing I know Davy Jones is on deck asking me, as he does all men who come to him:

Do you fear death? Do you fear that dark abyss? All your deeds laid bare. All your sins punished. I can offer you...an escape.

I was not ready to die. Certainly was not ready to see my deeds weighed against my sins. So I took him up on his offer. But it wasn't a very good offer: 100 years of serving on the crew of the Dutchman. So I negotiated a better deal. He agreed to raise my ship from the depths and after 13 years as her captain, I would serve my hundred years.

After being burned and all the Wicked Wench rose from the depths with her hull blackened. So I rechristened her the Black Pearl. I love that ship. She was everything a man could want in a ship.

I only got to captain her for 2 years before Davy Jones called in his debt. True, it had been 13 years since he raised the Pearl, but the crew had mutinied. I was a good 10 years without her. He argued that I'd called myself her captain all those years she was lost to the cursed gold, so it counted. I heartily disagreed. But then he had me marked and sent the kraken to find and fetch me.

* * *

The kraken. Elizabeth stifled a gasp. She felt sick at the thought of the beast. It had terrified her. The sight of it. The smell of it. It was truly the stuff of nightmares.

The children sat with their mouths agape waiting for details about the Kraken. Jack chewed his thumb. Still hadn't quite figured on how he wanted to tell this part of the tale. He caught Elizabeth's eye, but couldn't make out what she was thinking.

"What did you do Uncle Jack?"

"Were you scared?"

"Was the Kraken scary?"

"Was it really big?"

"Did it smell bad?"

"Did you run away?"

"He didn't run away," said Elizabeth, holding his gaze. Her fingers grazing the side of Jack's leg. He took her hand and held on tight, not knowing where she was going with this. "Not exactly. There's no running from fate. He left us without a word. I saw him rowing for land in the last longboat. Perhaps he thought to draw the Kraken away by rowing off by himself, to save the Pearl and the crew. But his plan wasn't working. Perhaps Davy Jones wanted both Jack and the Pearl as payment for this debt."

"The Kraken was indiscriminate about taking down ships full of men while looking for Jack. The Kraken had taken down other ships in the area," Elizabeth said. Jack's grip on her hand never easing as she continued her tale. "There didn't seem to be much rhyme or reason for who it might attack. It was a terrifying beast. The stench of it was like the smell of a thousand rotting corpses. It's tentacles, so enormous, it could wrap them around a ship and crush it, dragging down both ship and crew to the bottom of the sea."

The children sat with rapt attention of Elizabeth's description of the Kraken. This was the part they had been waiting for. "It had been coming after the Black Pearl. Huge tentacles coming up around either side of the ship. It tried to pull us under but we blasted it with our cannons. It came back angry and flailing. Smashing the deck and cabin and hull as it went. It was pulling men off the ship one by one and crushing them."

"How did you get away?" whispered Willy.

"We put together all of our black powder and explosives in a net and baited the beast to take it. I was to fire on the power once everything was in position. But it grabbed me by the leg. The crew chopped me free. I had suction cup bruises, as big as a dinner plate, up my leg for weeks afterwards. By the time I managed to scramble across the deck to my musket, Jack was back." The children oooed and ahhed their appreciation of this turn of events.

"He'd come back to us, just in time and took the shot. The explosion was enough to send the Kraken retreating," said Elizabeth. "But we feared it would soon return, as it did after the cannon blast. The Pearl was damaged. Dead in the water, and so would we be. We needed to get to land to escape. Jack ordered the crew to abandon ship and stayed aboard the Pearl himself, so that we could get away safe."

She wrote herself out of the story. She was ashamed of her part in it. Even though they called things square, the thought of abandoning Jack for the Kraken still made her sick.

"Were you scared?" asked Lucy, pinning up the last braid.

"Terrified," Elizabeth shuddered, gripping Jack's hand. "Watching the Kraken take Jack and the Pearl was one of the most awful things I've ever had to witness."

Jack looked at her and squeezed her hand. One of the most awful things. Perhaps not as awful as watching your husband drown in his own blood, after being run through by Davy Jones. Jack wondered if her version of this was a better story than the one he was turning over in his head. To make him a hero of sorts. To say that she had no part in encouraging him to stay.

"So did the Kraken eat you, Uncle Jack?"

"Did it just pick you up and squeeze the life you?"

"I heard the Kraken has a thousand teeth, and a mouth like a lamprey... Except really big"

"Was it big enough to swallow you whole? Or did it have to chew you into little pieces first?"

She didn't want to hear about this. Her heart couldn't take it. How many bites did it take for the Kraken to eat Uncle Jack? The toddler in her arms didn't need to hear it either. She didn't want him waking with nightmares.

"Excuse us," she said, "someone needs a nap." Elizabeth let go of Jack's hand and got up with Nicholas on her hip. He fussed and complained about not being tired. He'd been yawning and rubbing his eyes on her shoulder. She walked to the stove and found the boy's clothes and her own thin shirt dry enough to wear. She dressed the boy and took him to the quiet corner where the blanket was hanging.

She stripped off her damp clothes, desperate to get out of those wet pants, and put her shirt on. It was common for men's shirts to be long. This one hung almost to her knees. Modest enough for Samson island. She popped back out for a moment to hang her wet things, before settling back in the corner with Nick.

He wasn't very happy about being separated from the group. He didn't want to miss out. He insisted he wasn't tired and didn't need a nap. But Elizabeth was warm and snuggley and smelled nice.

"You don't have to sleep," said Elizabeth negotiating. "But you'll keep me company here for a bit? And I will sing you a song, alright?" The boy nodded and made himself comfortable straddling her small waist and laying his head on her breast.

 _Oh hush thee my dove, oh hush thee my rowan,_

 _Oh hush thee my lapwing, my little brown bird._

* * *

"The stench of the Kraken's breath was enough to make my eyes water," said Jack. "It had hundreds of big pointy teeth as long as my arm. It took no time to suck me into its maw. The next thing I know, I'm on the Pearl in the middle of a desert, with no one to order around but myself."

The children looked a little disappointed by this part of the tale. Usually there were more heroic feats involved in Uncle Jack's stories. Jack was a little blind sided by Elizabeth's version of the tale. He was still ruminating on it. He took another swig of rum.

"It was very brave of you to try to lead the Kraken away," said Lucy.

"And more brave that you went back to help when it was attacking the Pearl," said Yasmin.

"Yes, well, that's not exactly how I remember it," he mused. He took another sip from his bottle. He could hear Elizabeth's sweet lullaby from the corner. Siren that she was.

 _Oh fold thy wings and seek thy nest now,_

 _Oh shine the berry on the bright tree,_

"Sometimes you need help to do brave things," he explained. "To do the right thing. A sirens song called me back to the Pearl. When the others were preparing to abandon ship, she stayed behind. Told me I was good. She kissed me, tied me to the mast, said that she was not sorry and left me to face my fate."

"Well, that's not very nice," said Yasmin. "I thought sirens were supposed to take you with them, not tie you a mast. Didn't Odysseus tie himself to the mast to hear the siren song without being taken away?"

"Why would she do that?" asked Hermano.

"I'm just telling you what happened," said Jack. "I don't pretend to know the ways of sirens."

Jack was quiet for a spell, listening to Elizabeth's soft singing fill the room. Another swig of rum before he continued, "I wondered for a long time if she was not sorry for stealing the kiss, or if she was not sorry for ensuring that the Kraken would find me. Perhaps it was both, because she came back for me. Maybe she was not sorry for sending me to the locker because she would find a way to get me out of it."

"She doesn't sound like a siren," complained Hermano. "What did she look like? Was she beautiful?"

"Aye," sighed Jack. "She was more lovely than calm water at sunrise on a clear day."

Clara smiled. She knew what Uncle Jack meant by that, but also knew it did not satisfy their curiosity. "Could she sing?"

"If I close my eyes I can hear her as if she was in the room with us now," was his reply.

 _The bird is home from the mountain and valley._

 _Oh horo hi ri ri Cadul gu lo._

* * *

 ** _Hmmm... Mermaids and sirens._**

 ** _Scarlet Woman called me out back in chapter 5 wondering why I gave her a slave brand. I hadn't quite figured it out yet. I knew I wanted to talk about the slave trade. I was at the time being especially torturous to poor Elizabeth, but wanted to show she could handle a beating and move on with her life._**

 ** _I was going to make this connection between her and Neema sooner. I had planned to do it a few times, most especially in chapter 16 when they go to the hot springs. But it didn't happen and I was kicking myself for forgetting to write it in. But I think it worked out ok here._**

 ** _Jack's story is basically from the POTC wiki. Elizabeth's heroic version of Jack's actions I spun on the fly, actually reworked this quiet a few times to make it run smooth, but I think it's a good version of the tale._**

 ** _Two songs featured are the fish of the sea and the Manx lullaby._**

 ** _Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Please follow, favourite and review._**


	25. Chapter 25

_**This chapter was brought to you by the Cape Breton lullaby. Please ignore lyrical references to canadian east coast geography, but you know, whatevs it's one of my favourites.**_

 _ **Thanks to ako94, HannaMi3, River and Smile back for the reviews!**_

* * *

Chp 25

Nicholas lay sleeping on Elizabeth's chest. He was a good boy, well behaved. Small for his age and quiet for a toddler. He was passed around a lot at home, as his mother worked odd hours and was not able to watch him. He found that if he was silent then big people would yell less and were less inclined to hit him. He was generally content to attach himself to whoever showed him some small amount of kindness. Today was a good day. He felt safe here.

Though he was mostly weaned, his mother would still let him nurse before naps and bedtime. More for comfort than food and to ease her guilt for not being around as much as she would like. It wasn't unusual for him to co-nurse with other mothers who stayed at his house when his own mother wasn't around, though they put up with him less these days, complaining that he was too old for nursing. So he found himself disappointed when Elizabeth stopped him from unbuttoning her shirt to suckle.

Elizabeth was a little taken aback by his action, though there was a small part of her that was flattered that he would attempt to nurse. Perhaps there was something about him that made her want to play mother. She held him close. pinned his little arms to stop him from groping her or pulling down the collar of her shirt. It didn't take long for her to sing him to sleep.

 _Driftwood is burning blue,_

 _wild walk the wall shadows,_

 _Night winds go riding by,_

 _riding by the lochie meadows._

 _On to the ring of day_

 _flows Mira's stream singing:_

 _Caidil gu la laddie, la, laddie, sleep the stars away._

Her whispered lullabies reminding her of her own mother. Her mother whose face she'd forgotten except for the painting in her father's room. Elizabeth remembered thinking the painting didn't look like her mother when she first saw it. There was something wrong with the eyes or the nose, the mouth was too small, the neck too long. But what memory she had of her mother's face was eventually replaced by this second rate painting. She could still imagine her mother's dresses and the smell of lavender. Her mother, who would let her stay up late and read her stories of adventure.

She found herself thinking about Will and the conversations they had about raising a family. How many children they might have. What their names might be. How they would teach them right from wrong. Teach them how to stand up for themselves and those more vulnerable than them. Those were carefree times.

She never would have guessed her life to turn out like this. Everything had changed. The idea of motherhood hovered like a question mark. The idea of it seemed appealing in this moment. Spending a day with the children, and especially with this small boy sleeping at her breast, made her long for it. To have someone with her always. To have the love of a family, even if it was just the two of them.

Today made motherhood seem like a possibility. She knew that it would not be easy. Her mother died trying to give birth. She knew how mothers struggled with loneliness and responsibility and poverty when their men were away at sea. She knew the love that came with being mother would mean heartache with every small hurt her child might face. That heartache meant mothers would sacrifice food, water, sleep, humility and every other thing that one might think a basic human need or right to ensure the comfort of their children. Today made it feel like it would all be worth it.

She held her belly and tried to conjure Will's face, determined not to forget him. She prayed there might be a part of him growing inside her. Most days she tried not to think about this. Most days she didn't know how she felt about it. Most days she felt a jumble of emotions hope, fear, anger, joy. Mostly she felt the anxiety of not knowing. But today she wasn't afraid, she wanted it. She wanted this baby to be born, to be hers. She would fill its life with love and never let it go.

* * *

 _Far on Beinn Bhreagh's side_

 _wander the lost lambies._

 _Here, there and ev'rywhere,_

 _ev'rywhere their troubled mammies_

 _Find them and fold them deep,_

 _fold them to sleep singing:_

 _Caidil gu la laddie, la, laddie, sleep the moon away._

When there was a break in the storm, Captain Clara Novella decided to head down to the dock to check on Ming's boat. Yasmin offered to join her, especially as Clara didn't want to go alone and didn't want Nate to come, though he offered. Nate knew nothing of boats and Clara felt awkward being alone with him.

Everything on deck seemed in order, except for some rigging that had come loose. "Do you think he likes me?" mused Yasmin dreamily, as the girls secured the ropes.

"Who?" asked Clara. She often teased her friend for being boy crazy. Yasmin was only a year older than her, but already developing breast. Clara was glad it wasn't her turn yet. She didn't think becoming a woman was something to look forward to. Too many rules. Too many restrictions.

"Jeffery," Yasmin sighed. "He's soooo cute, isn't he? And it's soooo sweet to see him taking care of his little brother." She giggled and swooned, hopping down from the railing to the deck.

"I guess," said Clara. Her older brothers had often been tasked with watching her. She didn't think it a big deal. "He's a good sailor at least." That was true and high praise in Clara's mind. Otherwise Jeffery was just Jeffery. He'd always just been Jeffery and Clara was having difficulty seeing him as cute or anything else. She didn't think of him as a boy, nor she and Yasmin as girls. Not really. Not when they'd all just hung out together in the town square like always. Not like what Yasmin was suggesting. "Why wouldn't he like you? He's our friend. He and your brother are always up to something."

Yasmin sighed and rolled her eyes. "No, not like that! I don't want him to like me like Amir!" she cried. "Do you think he LIKES me? You know," she explained with a laugh, "the way Uncle Jack likes Elizabeth."

Clara shrugged. Not because she didn't care, but because she didn't understand why her friend was so infatuated. And because she still felt a little jealous of Jack's interest in Elizabeth, even though she didn't like him that way. Not really. Not like to stand in the rain kissing him. More like wanting him as a friend or a father or just someone who was around all the time. "He did offer to help you with the logs," she offered, trying to think if Jeffery was acting any different than usual.

Yasmin leaned against the mast, "I keep feeling like he's watching me."

"Isn't everyone always watching you?" teased Clara.

Yasmin blushed. She was the pretty one, everyone agreed, with long black hair, big brown eyes framed with long dark lashes. She was always singing or dancing or doing something to catch your eye. She and Amir had been performing for pennies and praise on the docks or at festivals for as long as they could remember.

She and Amir had an affinity to performance. It was in their blood. Her mother was a dancer, who did well enough with her clothes on, that she didn't ever need to work with her clothes off. Her father, a talented musician, found better money sailing, especially when he was able to negotiate one and a quarter shares (or one and a half shares if he was lucky) for the entertainment he was able to provide the crews.

Yasmin didn't always like the attention she received. Now that she was older, comments had started to shift from ladies cooing about the cute twins, to men complimenting her. It wasn't that she didn't appreciate their compliments, but they sometimes did it with a look that made her feel uncomfortable. Like there was some joke she was missing and she didn't know if she should smile or laugh or keep waiting for the punchline.

She didn't really know how to deal with them. It would upset Amir and she didn't really understand why he would get so angry sometimes. Nothing had happened. No one had tried to touch her. Not yet. But things were different. Less innocent. Maybe she was ready to be less innocent.

"Do you like Nate?" asked Yasmin, turning the question away from herself, as the girls went to check on things below deck. "He's definitely been looking at you all day." She was secretly jealous that Clara had so clearly won someone's affections. Whether or not Clara cared to reciprocate was not the point. Clara wasn't really a flirt and Yasmin sometimes wondered if she was interested in anything other than boats and sailing.

"He's alright I guess," said Clara. She was both flattered and annoyed by the situation. She didn't really know what to make of it. They really had little in common. He was a shepherd after all. Though she would admit that he was kind and easy on the eyes.

"I saw you holding hands," Yasmin sang.

Clara blushed. It was true she held his hand. It didn't feel strange to hold his hand. It was like holding her brothers' hand, or so she told herself. "Well, there's nothing wrong with holding hands, is there?" she was on the defensive.

"Are you going to let him kiss you?" asked Yasmin. She wasn't really thinking about Clara being kissed. She was thinking about Jeffery and how he was looking at her at the woodpile. Like he was going to ask her something but didn't have the words to ask.

"No," said Clara, already embarrassed about the hand holding.

"You should," Yasmin laughed. "I would." Wondering what it might feel like to be kissed by a boy who wasn't her brother or father or uncle.

Clara stopped, "would you?" she asked, serious now. "Are you going to kiss Jeffery?" Clara felt a little sad about that. She didn't like the idea of growing up, but she knew this was part of it.

Her brothers were the first to tease her about how one day she would be more interested in boys than boats. That she would get married and have babies and there would be no more sailing for her. That made her sad. It made her think that maybe if she didn't start liking boys then the other things wouldn't happen and she could keep sailing.

It made her sad to see that Elizabeth, the pirate king, was planning to stay in Shipwreck rather than sail with the Pearl. She was a woman who had been captain of a ship. She had been pirate lord. Not very many could say that. Most women pirates seemed to retire after marrying. It was too dangerous to be pregnant and have babies aboard a ship if there was an option to be on land. Maybe she was wrong to think this was something she could do.

"Do you think he would kiss me?" asked Yasmin. It was strange to think even just the other day they were chasing the boys to crown them with flowers. A children's game. Though now the idea of chasing the boys so boldly made her shy.

"I don't know," said Clara. They were entering uncharted waters. For an adventurer like Clara, one would think uncharted waters would be a draw. Something new and exciting. But not this. It made her nervous. It made her hesitate.

They had been making their way from room to room until they found the blanket box that Lucy told them about. They opened it and emptied it, taking an arm load of blankets each. "I'm going to have Jeffery kiss me before I leave this island," declared Yasmin.

Clara looked at her friend and saw the excitement and determination in her eyes. They were growing up. There was no escaping that. She didn't want things to change between them. Though she didn't have sisters, she'd seen it with the older girls in town. One of them would fall in love and their friends would complain about not seeing her anymore. Boys should not be allowed to spoil friendships, but they did. It was upsetting.

Clara kicked the box close and put down her load. She took the blankets from Yasmin and put them down. She gave her friend a hug. "Ok," said Clara, "but we're friends first and always."

"Of course," laughed Yasmin, hugging her back.

"Promise me," said Clara.

"We are friends first," promised Yasmin. She kissed Clara's cheek, "forever and always."

Clara nodded, "alright. How are we going to make this happen?" The two girls laughed as they schemed, dreaming up scenarios, as they gathered their things and headed back to the cabin.

* * *

 _Daddy is on the bay,_

 _he'll keep the pot brewin',_

 _Keep all from tumblin' down,_

 _tumblin' down to rack and ruin._

 _Pray, Mary, send him home_

 _safe from the foam singing:_

 _Caidil gu la laddie, la, laddie, sleep the dark away._

"Hi," Jack peeked behind the blanket curtain to find Elizabeth slouched against the wall with a sleeping babe lying on her. Bare legs stretched out from under her shirt. She shifted awkwardly, feeling suddenly exposed under his gaze.

"The girls brought these back from the boat," he said proffering a blanket to tuck her in. "A little damp as the rain started again on their way back," he explained, sitting on the floor next to her. He was trying not to stare at the décolletage exposed by a child's fist pulling down on the collar of her shirt. Trying not to imagine her bare legs under that blanket.

"Oh," she said blushing at his gaze, "thanks," drawing the blanket around her and Nicholas. She peaked around the curtain to see the older kids were gathered around the table playing cards. The younger ones stacking a tower of blocks on the floor.

"You need a break?" asked Jack, nodding to the boy who was fast asleep. "I can take him for a bit."

"I'm alright," she whispered. Jack was being sweet. She didn't realize how long this day would be, nor how ineffective their chaperones would be. She realized that she needed a break from him.

Now, more than ever she felt like she needed some space. The story of the kraken gnawed at her. She wondered if she was right to tell her version of Jack and the kraken. To hide her role in his death. Was it even her tale to tell? She wasn't yet done avoiding him. This story, her betrayal, still turned her stomach.

Though he'd told her more than once that they were even on this account, part of her couldn't help thinking his flirtation with her was to settle a score. A sliver of doubt about his motivations, but telling the tale of the kraken made that sliver fester. He was a pirate after all. It was a terrible thing to think, but when women owe men, there are expectations for payment that may start with a smile and a kiss but may lead a man's desires to other more carnal activities. That kind of payment was not something she was ready to give. Pirates have a habit of taking what they want.

She hugged the boy on her lap. She held him like a shield against all things frightening or unknown. "I don't want to wake him."

She sat slumped with her shoulders were against the wall, and her back against nothing. He looked around, but saw nothing that could pass for a bolster or a pillow. He thought to offer himself for her to lean against, but she seemed a little prickly right now, so he didn't. "You're going to kink your back sitting like that," he frowned.

She nodded, "probably." It was nice of him to offer to help, to notice her predicament. Women's work was so often invisible to men. She found she couldn't meet his eyes. She had left the storytelling abruptly. She hadn't wanted to hear his version of it, to hear him call her out on the omissions in her story.

"Let me take him," he insisted, detaching Nicholas's little fist from her collar. He picked up the boy gently. Little Nick barely stirred, and settled himself quite comfortably on Jack's chest.

It took a moment for Elizabeth to register this as kindness. She felt stripped. Though the boy was getting heavy and she really did need to stretch, she was enjoying the feel of him lying on her. She looked at him sleeping soundly on Jack. She reached over and smoothed the boys hair. It was hard to stay annoyed.

She felt badly that Jack was being nice to her. That old guilt rose like bile in the back of her throat and twisted in the pit of her stomach. There was nothing to suggest any bitterness on the part of Jack. Perhaps they were square. Perhaps she was overthinking it.

She stretched and felt the relief of her back cracking, her shoulders popping. She adjusted her clothes and blanket. "Do you think this storm will go til morning?" she asked. It wasn't what she meant to say. She wanted to ask him about her story, if it had upset him. She need to pull out this sliver of doubt that she still owed him something. The anxiety she felt was like something was squeezing her chest. Her heart raced.

He could see the tension in her body curled up next to him. "Sick of me already?" he teased. It didn't take much to see how her demeanour changed at the mention of the kraken and his untimely demise. Perhaps he should give the girl some space. Let her alone to lick her wounds.

"It was a good story," he whispered. She softened a little. He found her hand under the blanket and held it. "You're getting better at telling tales, though I believe you left out an important character."

Elizabeth stiffened and made to draw her hand back, but he wouldn't let her go. "I heard you write her back in," she replied softly, referring to herself in the third person. She wanted to distance herself from what she had done.

"Did you mean it?" she asked, their conversation in hushed tones, so as not to wake the toddler. She was surprised that he fashioned her role as a siren. He'd called her as much on more than one occasion. In that moment, she never imagined that he thought her anything but a cold hearted murderess.

Pirate. His voice rang in her ears. A blessing or a curse?

"Did you?" he asked, turning the question back on her. In that moment, he never imagined that she thought him anything but a coward rowing for land, ready to flee with the rest of them, rather than meet his inevitable fate.

"Did I..?" She paused and shook her head. She remembered feeling abandoned when she saw him rowing away. For her, that was the worst feeling. She hated being left behind. It had happened too many times. So to leave him behind the way she did, made her sick. She hugged the blanket tight around herself. "I don't... Maybe not when it happened. I don't know if I would have believed it. But I could now. I've seen your heart."

Hmmm. A shiver ran through him and the sound of those words. She was making him soft. He was not generally one to show vulnerability, it had never worked out well for him before. If she'd seen his heart, he wondered how much he had opened up to her. The fluttery feeling in his stomach was concerning. He frowned and thought to draw his hand back, but she held onto him.

"Is it true?" she asked. "My story. Was it true? That you were drawing the Kraken away from the Pearl?"

He cleared his throat. "Does it matter now?" he asked, taking his hand back and distracting himself by fidgeting with the rings on his fingers.

She hated how his words always twisted back on themselves. He was incorrigible. She was more confused than angry at his question. She didn't know what to say. She hesitated. She opened her mouth as if to answer, but closed it again before any words could escape.

"Sometimes," he explained, "if you repeat a story enough, the legend becomes more real than reality, savvy?"

She nodded slowly but didn't fully understand what he was saying. It's true that his reputation preceded him. She realized she'd fallen in love with the stories of Jack Sparrow, before they'd ever met. She had been disappointed to find that the stories were not always true, and for a time he fell off the pedestal she had placed him on. Yet as she grew to know him and was able to see the truth through the embellishment, she found him all the more fascinating.

"Does it matter if you knew or didn't know that you would rescue me from the locker when you chained me to the mast and told me you weren't sorry?" he asked. He didn't mention the kiss, though he glance over at her lips in memory of it. She was silent, pondering his words. Shamed by the memory of her actions.

"Perhaps we can agree to believe in our better natures as narrated by the other," he suggested. She made him a better person, in story and in reality, why not take advantage of such generosity? And because he liked her, offer a more flattering version of her part, in exchange. Not the most piratey thing to do, but she brought out a more heroic side of him.

She looked at him and saw no sarcasm in his eyes. It was true that whatever truth they had lived, the other was now willing to see a greater good in that truth. It was a strange blessing to have someone see you as better than you are and to want to live up to their ideal of who you could be. They were square. A sigh escaped her, like some kind of weight lifting to reveal a lightness that she had forgotten. She nodded her agreement.

He pulled her close and made to kiss her sweet lips, to seal their pact, but she turned her head and the kiss landed on her cheek. "Just friends?" he whispered disappointed.

She leaned against him and smoothed Nicholas's hair. She hadn't planned on kissing Jack today. Or letting him hold her close in the rain. Or letting her body feel things that were the kind of feelings she should only have with her husband. Things were moving far too fast. She didn't think falling in love with Jack Sparrow would feel so inevitable. Falling in love complicated everything. It had a way of doing that.

* * *

 ** _This island adventure is really taking up many many more chapters than I expected, was not expecting this chapter to be like this. Am struggling a bit with where Jack and Lizzie's hearts are at. I'm not trying to over complicate things for the sake of it, but I seem to have painted myself into a corner and am figuring how to set things up so I can get to where I hope to be by the end of part one of this story. We are so close to the end, but I don't know how many chapters away. This island adventure was supposed to be 2 chapters at most and it's turned into its own beast. Hope you're finding these moments as interesting as I am._**

 ** _Hope you are enjoying the interludes with the kids. Things are a bit heavy with J and E right now, so just using them as a foil to lighten things up a bit._**

 ** _Anyway. Please review, follow and favourite. I think I speak for all writers when I say your reviews inspire me to write._**


	26. Chapter 26

**_Finally a new chapter! Sorry it's taken so long. I was distracted by things like work, us election, Netflix, etc. + wrote at least 3 backstory/ flashback scenes that I ended up cutting, but might use some in the future._**

 ** _Thanks to earfluffy, Sleepy Lotus, 5dreamcatcher, kcpiratey05, River, HannaMi3, MMM73181 and Smile back for all of their feedback and reviews. Your comments are always appreciated._**

 ** _This is all inspired by stuff owned by Disney. Enjoy._**

* * *

Chp 26

Amir was drumming. Amir was always drumming. He would drum with his hands. He would drum with sticks. He would clap and stomp and drum on his thighs and chest. Even when all was quiet and still, he would drum with his fingers inside his pockets. The unending rhythm inside always always pushing out of him.

Amir was a maker of music. That was his gift. You would often find Amir busking with his sister in the town square or on the docks. He would drum and she would dance. Sometimes they would sing a ghazal. What few coins they received he was saving to buy a djembe and she a new sash with bells that would jingle when she moved.

Once a week his mother would run a dance class. It was part of a sort of finishing school, established by Mistress Ching for the ladies she employed. Amir was conscripted by his mother to provide musical accompaniment for the class. His sister provided lessons for the children that some women would bring along, or she would help her mother with demonstrations if there was no need for childcare.

It was the only time Amir hated drumming. His mother shouting him down if he tried anything interesting with the rhythm that would throw the ladies off. Beginner classes were such a chore. Boring. The same beat. The same dances. The same clumsy dancing. The same kind of sad, tired women, who he was made to call aunty, that would pat his head or pinch his cheeks and tell him how he was a good boy for helping his mother with their lessons. Amir would stare out the window and wish he was outside with the other boys playing ball.

Jeffery would usually be out there. He was Amir's best friend. Strong and athletic, Jeffery was a great ball player and sailor. He was a lot of things Amir was not. However, they had been close for as long as Amir could remember. They always looked out for each other. They'd gotten into all sorts of trouble together.

Like the time they borrowed O'Malley's cart to see how fast they could speed down the big hill in it. They had a few good runs just the two of them. They had every intention of retiring the cart before the sun went down. Then they decided to see how many of the neighbourhood kids could ride at the same time. Seven children hurtling down the hill at breakneck speed was great fun, until they hit a bump and the axel broke under their weight. They both got a tanning that left them standing for days.

Or the time they went to spend a night camping out on the mountain. Talked about where they might go when they were old enough to leave the island. It was a great trip, hiking out on their own. They felt mature. Independent. At least until they breathed in too much smoke from their campfire made with too much of that dried fungus they knew enough not to eat, but didn't know enough not to burn. They both started hallucinating that monsters were chasing them and ran back into town before the moon was up.

Amir was alway trying to get friends to keep him company during his mother's dance classes. Jeffery finally agree to sitting in. He'd never come before, despite Amir's constant requests, because girls. You know, girls were weird and boring. But now he was going because... girls. You know, girls were ok... sometimes. Amir never asked why Jeffery kept showing up to the classes. Amir was just glad for the company.

Lately, much to his embarrassment, Jeffery found himself staring at girls. Women rather. Not girls. They were different. So he didn't mind keeping his friend company during dance class. It was an excuse to watch. He would come to the class and sit with Amir, who would teach him how to drum.

For laughs Amir would speed up the music and watch the women get flustered and lose the beat. Only his sister enjoyed taking up his challenge, speeding up a shimmy or catching the change and slowing her movements to half time.

It was a game for them. One that Jeffery had watched many times on the docks. A game that would eventually send one of them into fits of laughter. But now he sat in class with his hand in his pocket and watched her gyrate her hips. There was definitely something different about her lately that left him mesmerized. Something about the way she smiled when she caught him staring.

Amir drummed. The ladies danced. They were all oblivious to the glances between Amir's sister and his best friend.

* * *

He was pinned down by the deadweight of a sleeping toddler. She had fallen asleep in the circle of his arm. Her arm draped across his torso. Her head resting heavy on his shoulder. He realized his arm was asleep. He tried to shift out from under her, but she woke.

She sat up bleary eyed and yawned. He shook out his arm, tingling with pins and needles. "Sorry," she whispered and closed her eyes again, yawning as she arched her back to stretch out the kink that had returned.

He smiled. Her hair was a mess of braids, half slipping from their pins. Her shirt askew, exposing her sunburn already fading from pink to tan. Her eyes puffy from sleep. She wiped the drool from the corner of her mouth. She was a hot mess. He could eat her up.

She leaned over him, her braids slipped free to tickle his face. He thought to catch the end of one with his fingertips and pull her down and kiss those soft lips. "What did Lucy do to your head?" he whispered, amused.

She smiled and sat up. "It's a new style with young girls at Shipwreck," she explained. She pulled out pins and shook out the braids. Her hair fell in waves around her face.

"Not how a proper lady would wear her hair, is it? But I'm hardly a lady anymore." She looked away and felt him staring. She felt suddenly ashamed of her appearance. She longed for pretty dresses and jewelry and a proper iron and papers to curl her hair. "I must look a fright," she frowned.

She look down to see him smiling up at her. He shook his head. She looked as lovely as ever. She waited for him to say something, but he just stared at her smiling, until she blushed and looked away.

How could he make her feel this way? Warm and tingly and so wound up she felt she might burst. She could drown in the dark pools of his eyes. A wet shuddering death. A shiver ran down her spine. Some part of her told her to let go. Give in to the undertow. She bit her lip to stop a smile from creeping across her face.

His finger twined itself around a lock of her hair. She leaned over him, creating a curtain of blonde waves around his face. "The girls call it mermaid hair. Do you like it?"

He grinned. Of course she would have 'mermaid hair', siren that she was. Mesmerized by her gaze, he said, "I like it very much." Though to be honest, it didn't really matter what hairstyle she sported. He was quite sure even if he lost both eyes, he would see her as beautiful.

"You know," he whispered, with a twinkle in his eyes. His voice so soft she had to lean in to hear him. His fingers caressing her cheek. Her heart raced, til she flushed pink to her hairline. His thumb brushed her lower lip. He felt the warm rush of her sigh. "They say a kiss from a mermaid will keep a man from drowning." He waited for her to make a move. His lips tingling with unspent kisses.

Mermaid kisses. She'd heard that before. There was something she couldn't quite remember. Somewhere in her past or perhaps her future? What was it? She was neither drunk nor asleep enough to feel like she was in this dream state, pondering the magical touch of mythical creatures.

What did she see in the waters today? She heard them call to her. She chewed her lip. The rush of waves swallowed her up. How easy would it be to let the pull of the sea take her away? To heed the mermaids call and swim with her sisters? To be reunited with Will..? Her heart felt heavy.

Let go. She heard the words echo in her mind. Let go of what? A sound that had travelled through water to reach her here, now. Where had she heard this before? Let go. Be free. Laughter, like a dolphin's chortle, calling her out to sea.

He wondered about her hesitation. She hadn't been so shy with her kisses in the rain. Perhaps she regretted it. He should just let her be. She was too good for him. He let out a sigh. She was looking at him and biting her lip. She looked preoccupied. What was she thinking?

He was passed the point of caring what that whelp husband of hers thought. Purgatory was unpleasant to put it mildly, but this unresolved desire was also a kind of purgatory. Besides, he was always one to tempt fate. To beg forgiveness rather than seek permission. Will was not an unreasonable man, he could be swayed. He could hardly expect a vivacious girl like Lizzie give up her life for the sake of tying her fortunes to a dead man. "Fair mermaid," he asked playfully, "surely your undead husband would not hold it against you, if your kiss would to save a handsome rogue from drowning?"

His words shaking her out of her trance, bringing her back to this world. He lay there watching, waiting for her decision, curious or amused to see what she would do. She in-turn watched him, curious or amused that he would choose to wait rather than take what he desired. She glanced at the boy sleeping on his chest. Chaperone. She smiled and leaned in a little closer. "Are you drowning?" she asked, surprised at the breathiness of her own voice.

He grinned, "you think I'm handsome." He watched her blush, but she didn't drop his gaze. She was so beautiful. "Remember the time I saved you from drowning?" he asked. His voice was low and purring, like that orange cat of hers, trying to coax caresses from her. "And cut that corset off of you?"

She gasped and held her breath while he mimed the action of cutting off her clothes, running his finger slowly from her belly to her breast. He could feel her body tense and shudder under his touch, but instead of pulling away she leaned into it. His eyes never left hers. She exhaled and leaned down a little closer, their lips almost touching.

Her heart was hammering in her chest. A rush of warmth filled her body. "Or the time we walked the plank and you helped me come on shore?" her words barely a whisper. She felt a contraction below her hips. Her body giving in to warm wet desire. Her lips brushing against his. Her breath tasting of mangoes and seawater. "And we danced by the fire..."

He smiled, "and you burned all the rum." He still couldn't understand why she would burn perfectly good rum, but somehow that too had become a fond memory.

She smiled back, "you're not still angry about that are you?" But before he could answer, she covered his mouth with a kiss.

* * *

The storm ended after a simple dinner of leftovers. With a red sky to the west, they turned out of the cabin for a smokey bonfire. Willy produced a small guitar from somewhere and Marta pressed Uncle Jack to play them a tune. Amir drummed. Elizabeth and the children danced.

They held hands and danced in a circle. They kicked up their feet with their hands in the air. They danced on their hands with their feet in the air. They shook and flapped their limbs and jumped up as high as they could in time to the music.

One dancer stood out. Yasmin was in her element. Dancing to her brother's beat was like breathing to her. The others tried to mimic her moves, though even the simplest of steps somehow looked better when she did it. They struggling to follow her shimmies, especially as Amir keep changing the speed of his drumming. Soon she was the only one left dancing, as the others stood around her clapping and cheering her on. Everyone was watching her, but she was looking at Jeffery.

Jeffery was glad that the firelight helped to hide his blushing. He was going to talk to her tonight, he vowed to himself. Maybe tell her how he felt, if he knew how to put it into words. He swallowed hard. His heart was racing. His hands were sweaty. He felt like he was going to throw up.

She finished her dance. Shared her bow with Amir, while the audience cheered their appreciation to the siblings. Clara grabbed her friend's hand, laughing and joking about something, the two girls came to sit next to him. He tried to play it cool, gathered his thoughts while they giggled about something the way girls do. Then Clara got up and he was left alone on the bench next to her. She looked at him and smiled.

* * *

Tonight felt good. She hadn't felt this good in a long time. She felt safe and loved. She felt like maybe it was alright to let her guard down. That maybe it was alright to open up her heart again.

She sat next to Jack and let him serenade her. The older children were having their own conversations by the dying fire, while the young ones chased each other in imaginary battle with stick swords.

The storm clouds had passed. Dusk darkened to twilight and the blaze of the bonfire dimmed. She lay back in the sand and listening to his song, as she watched the constellations reveal themselves one star at a time.

The last time she lay in the sand it was with her husband. She looked up at Jack and blushed at the thought of laying with him. His eyes twinkling as he looked down at her. She let herself smile and listened as he strummed the guitar and softly sang:

 _Nesta rua, nesta rua tem um bosque_

 _Que se chama, que se chama Solidão_

 _Dentro dele, dentro dele mora um anjo_

 _Que roubou, que roubou meu coração._

"It's a beautiful song. But I don't recognize the words." she said, looking up at him. While some of the words sounded akin to Spanish, it was not quite what she was familiar with.

He smiled down at her. Mermaid hair spread out on the sand. There were stars in her eyes. "It's Portuguese," he said. "About an angel that stole my heart," he explained.

"Ah," is all she said, feeling suddenly warm all over. Embarrassed or honoured that he would play her such a love song.

"Ah," she said again, "Jack..." admitting to herself that Captain Jack Sparrow had stolen her heart quite a long time ago. She wanted to say something more. She thought maybe she should let him know. Just three small words. But they caught in her throat. She swallowed that thought and sat up. "Do you dance as well as you sing?"

He put the guitar down and stood, holding out his hand to help her up. "I don't dance the minuet Miss Swann," he said pulling her close. There was mischief in his eyes. A challenge. "How well do you follow?" he asked, cupping her shoulder blade with his right hand and taking her other hand with his left.

She looked a little mystified by this posture, but smiled up at him. "A waltz, then?" she asked blushing at their closeness. It was a German dance that she'd seen at kitchen parties, but never in a ballroom. It would be scandalous for a man to hold a woman like this in polite company. "I don't know the steps," she stuttered, looking down at Jacks feet for direction.

"Relax," he said, tipping her chin up, "eyes on mine, luv." She locked gazes with him and felt herself blush. Gold teeth glimmering in his wide smile.

"Trust me, darling? Just follow my lead," he said, and took a step forward. Elizabeth felt herself stepping back in response. He took a step to the side, she followed. He smiled. His eyes never leaving hers.

1-2-3, 1-2-3. He started her with a basic box step until she got a feel for it. She was a quick study. Wasn't she always? Clever lass. "I didn't figure you'd be so good at this," he said with a grin.

She frowned, "I'll have you know I'm quite a good dancer."

"Oh, no no no," he corrected himself, "I've watched you move, I know you can dance. I didn't think you be any good at following." He switched up the steps adding a rotation. She kept up with his every move. They whirled around in a circle.

"You're headstrong," he said. "Stubborn. There's nothing worse than dancing with a woman who fights you to lead." He changed the steps again and their waltz took them on trip around the fire. "You're the type who likes to be on top," he smirked.

She tried to hide her puzzled look. He was doing it again. She could never tell if she should take his comments as praise or as insult. She didn't understand exactly what he meant by that last comment, but gathered it was likely some lewd double entendre.

She was about to protest his comments when he pulled her closer. Close enough to feel like an embrace. Her breath hitched when his chest pressed against hers. "Relax," he hushed, his whisper in her ear. He smiled at the flutter of her heartbeat as she softened and leaned into him.

"Se eu roubei, se eu roubei teu coração," he sang softly in her ear. He held her close. She let her head rest on his shoulder. Their thighs touching as he danced her away from the children and the circle of firelight. He sweet song whispered in her ear, "Tu roubaste, tu roubaste o meu também."

She felt drunk. She must be drunk to be dancing with him like this. He danced her along the dark beach. The cold of the sea soaking their bare feet. It was so dark this far from the fire she could barely see his face. She found herself becoming lost in him. He'd cast a spell on her.

Their dance had slowed. His hands slid down to her waist. His hips coaxing hers in a sensual roll. His leg sliding between hers. Her body following his every move. Two bodies joined as one.

Still he sang, "Se eu roubei, se eu roubei teu coração, É porque, só porque te quero bem." If I stole your heart, it's because I care for you.

She didn't know the words to his song. It didn't matter. It only mattered that he held her close. It only mattered that they danced so close, that she burned so hot with desire she thought she would melt and become one with him.

Then there was no more song. There was only the crash and suck of the sea. The sound of their breathing. The sound of him kissing her neck. The sound of her sigh.

He backed her up against a tree. He held her hands behind her back. Her hips still following his slow maddening gyrations. He kissed her with the kind of urgency that made her moan. The kind of kiss that made her eyes roll back in her head. The kind of kiss that made her grateful to be pinned against a tree for otherwise she would surely lose all strength in her knees or faint from the ecstasy of it all.

Drowning the memory of a fateful day long past. Real or imagined that he'd left in order to draw the Kraken away from them. Real or imagined that she could leave him for dead because she would later somehow rescue him from his fate. Real or imagined that he was no longer afraid because somehow he knew he must have a hold of her heart. Real or imagined it was the moment he realized she had stolen his heart. Pirate.

He pull her shirt off her shoulders. She realized that those nimble pick-pocket fingers must have found a way to undo all her buttons without her knowing. "Pirate," she hissed the word in shock. She let the shirt fall from her body.

"Take what you can," she spat the words like a challenge, before reaching for his waist to untie his sash. He released her breasts from their bindings. Her hands under his shirt, working it up over his head. Soft flesh yielding to rough calloused hands. Skin to skin. Lips and teeth and tongues. She'd wrapped one leg around his waist. He ground himself against her. She matched his every move.

Their bodies as one, rolling with the rhythm of the sea. Every shred of propriety taken out by the tide. All that was left was their most base instincts. They'd given into the inevitable undertow of their desire.

A shrill cry split the air. "No! Stop!Stop it! Stop it! STOP!" The sound of children screaming.

* * *

 _ **Well, that chapter didn't really go as planned. Was it OK? did I lose the thread of it somewhere in the last 3 months of writing a bunch of deadend tidbits? I had hoped to highlight different types of dancing in a more fulsome kind of way with more back story, but it was getting unnecessarily long + I wasn't sure how committed I wanted to be to these flashbacks, they kept opening up plot holes, so you know, whatevs.**_

 _ **Also, I'm trying to keep this story T rated, but not exactly sure where the line is on that. I'm using "dirty dancing" and "top gun" as my guides. Yes, I'm old. If you have better/newer references for me or have any commentary on this I'd appreciate it. I figure if I keep things mostly above the waist and avoid graphic descriptions of certain body parts I'm ok-ish. Let me know if you think different.**_

 _ **This chapter features the song "If this street was mine (Se essa rua fosse minha)"**_

 _ **If you've enjoyed this this chapter (and even if you haven't) please follow, favourite and review.**_


	27. Chapter 27

**_Sorry this update took so long. I was feeling kind of uninspired by this secondary storyline that was begging for closure. Hopefully things will pick up from here._**

 ** _Thank you to everyone who has stuck with me, despite my slow updates. Special thanks to my reviewers: kcpiratey05, MMM73181, HannaMi3, River. Your feedback is always a source of encouragement._**

* * *

Chp 27

He had the most beautiful eyes. His eyes were the colour of the sea at sunset, flashing gold and blue and green. Those beautiful eyes were staring at her. She glanced up at him, but the giddiness that bubbled up inside made her looked away. She could see Clara on the far side of the fire talking to the boys.

Those beautiful eyes framed with long dark lashes were watching her. They were the kind of eye lashes that any girl would be jealous of. She smiled and looked up at him. He had a slightly blank look on his face. She looked away again.

When he become so riveting? She didn't remember feeling so awkward around him. She didn't remember feeling like he was catching her staring. She could drink him in with eyes and never slake her thirst for the sight of him.

Something about the swagger in his walk. She would watch him playing ball in the courtyard and find herself cheering quietly for him when he scored. She'd never taken an interest in these games before. Her brother would dragged her out to spend the afternoon with them, as her mother would only let her out if she was with her brother. Girls didn't play this game, so she was sidelined as a spectator, but it was better than being stuck indoors all day. And then it became something she looked forward to.

She glanced over to see him look away. Maybe she should say something. It was just Jeffery after all. She'd known him forever. He was almost like a brother. "So..." she said, but she couldn't think of anything else to say.

"You're really talented," he said, gathering his courage. She looked at him, unsure of how to react, but he smiled at her and the firelight picked up the flecks of gold in his eyes and she couldn't help but smile back.

He let out a little sigh of relief. "I love watching you move," he said. She smiled but shrugged and looked away, feeling suddenly awkward. Perhaps she was used to hearing praise, but it felt strange to hear him say it. Like he was mocking her, pretending to be one of the men on the docks, before they tossed a coin in her hat.

"Thank you," she said, sounding rather more formal than she planned. She could feel her heart in her throat. It's just Jeffery, she told herself. It felt strange to be alone with him. She felt shy but not, all at the same time. She felt the need to get up and run as fast as she can. Not to get away from him, but for the sheer exuberance of running. Yet she was transfixed to her seat, anxious at being so close to her object of desire.

"Is that why you come to my mother's classes?" she asked, feeling bold from his compliment, though she kept her eyes on the fire. She couldn't bear to actually look and speak to him at the same time.

She was a bit surprised when he started showing up to her mother's dance classes. Amir was always looking for excuses to get out of them. He was forever begging friends to keep him company. No one ever agreed to it, until Jeffery started coming a few weeks ago.

"Uh," he replied, running a hand through dark wavy hair that seemed to want to stick straight up out of his head. She loved his hair, thick and black and messy. She thought she might faint at the mere idea of running her fingers through it. Oh but he was handsome! Though her mother might disagree, with his unkempt hair and ragged clothes. "Well," he said, "Amir was always asking me to come."

"Oh," she said, her smile fading. She looked down and distracted herself from this disappointment by twisting the corner of her sash into a long thin point and unfurling it. Twist. Unfurl. Twist. Unfurl.

She looked up to see Uncle Jack playing a song on the guitar for Miss Elizabeth. She wondered what it would be like to have a boy put his arm around her. Would that be alright? For him to hold her on this warm night? What would her mother say?

She blushed at the thought and glanced over at Jeffery. He had the body of a sailor. Tanned and lean and strong. He was still watching her with those beautiful eyes and that sweet smile. She looked away, "I thought maybe you came to see me," she said quietly, "not just Amir."

He let all the breath out of himself in a big whoosh. He didn't realize he'd been holding it. "Yeah, maybe," was his awkward reply. Oh, he felt like he was on a sinking ship, not knowing how to bail water. "I mean," he tried again. "The reason I started coming was because of Amir. The reason I keep coming, uh," he paused and ran his hand through his hair again. "The reason I keep coming is to see you," he blurted.

She looked at him and smiled. He felt like the sun had just come out after a bad storm. "I like it when you come," she said. She looked back at the fire to see everyone watching Uncle Jack dancing close with Miss Elizabeth.

She didn't really have much experience with partner dances. There just wasn't anyone to dance with, except when her mother made her dance with the aunties, when they had an odd number and needed another body to help practice. Her mother's dance classes tended to focus on solo dances for an audience. This was the kind of dance that earned women the most money. Private dances. But court dances were also useful for the women to learn.

"Come dance with me," she said with a smile, her tone landing somewhere between a question and command. He looked scared. She stood up and held out her hand for him. "You must have learned something sitting through my mom's class," she laughed.

His hands were sweaty. He was feeling a little lightheaded. He wiped his palms on his pants. He looked over at Uncle Jack who was whirling around with Miss Elizabeth. "I don't really know the steps," he said, but he took her hand and stood.

"It's ok," she said, "I'll show you." She could feel the tension in his arm. "Relax," she said, pulling him back towards the back of the cabin. "Come, we'll practice here where the others can't judge."

A candle glowed through the cabin window to give them some light. "You remember the steps, don't you," she asked as she held her arms out and demonstrated. Step forward. To the side. Together. Step backwards. To the side. Together. He copied her footwork. She made him do it again.

He was reminded of humouring Marta with her games, when he was put in charge of watching the children. He was just playing along, following her instructions. Dancing with Yasmin seemed as foreign as entering Marta's imaginary land of dolls in castles.

He smiled as Yasmin flitted about to adjust his posture, while she put him through his paces. He would repeat his missteps just to feel her hands on him. "Like this," he laughed, to make her run her hands down his arms one more time.

"Stop playing," she huffed and stamped her foot. She crossed her arms annoyed. This was not a child's game. She was trying to be grown up.

"You're cute when you're mad," he grinned at her frustration. "Sorry," he lied. She glared at him. She wasn't there simply for his amusement.

"Sorry," he said again. This time he meant it. He cleared his throat and his arms out as she'd instructed. "Come on, dance with me," he coaxed.

"Alright," said Yasmin, stepping into the circle of his outstretched arms, taking his hand in hers. He liked the idea of holding her in his arms. Something about that made him feel like a man. "Now, you put your right hand behind my left shoulder," she instructed. "Good."

He stepped forward and she stepped back. He was looking down at their feet, too focused on not stepping on her toes and counting to be able enjoy what was happening.

1-2-3. 1-2-3. He waltzed her around the woodpile. Dancing with her was something he had imagined doing while sitting through her mother's dance classes. It wasn't something he was planning on doing today. He felt hot and dizzy. He was distractingly aware of things happening in his pants that he didn't want her to notice. "There's no music," he complained after awhile. "How do I know when the dance is over?"

She frowned a little disappointed. She was just getting into it. She had imagined herself a big pouffy dress embroidered with flowers and was working on imaging the details of the ballroom that she'd seen once in a painting. "We can stop if you like," she said, dropping her arms.

"You don't want to stop," he said. He didn't want to disappoint her. He wanted to do whatever he could to make her smile. It's not that he didn't like dancing with her. It was just a bit much right now.

She let him go. He looked relieved. She hugged herself, because she suddenly didn't know what to do with her arms. He put his hands in his pockets to adjust himself and hope she didn't see anything in the shadow of the night. "Maybe we can dance again some time when there's music," he offered.

She nodded and smiled at him, "I'd like that." She was trying not to feel self conscious, but those beautiful eyes burned her with their intensity. She had to look away to keep from freaking out. "Are you..." she hesitated, but then the words tumbling out in a rush, "do you like me?" She just wanted to hear him say the words.

"Uh," he said. "I like you a lot. I ummm... I think you're the prettiest girl in Shipwreck," he added, thinking back to Uncle Jack's advice. It seemed to work. Though she'd dropped her gaze, he watched a smile spread across her face.

She surprised him by leaning over and kissing his cheek. It was just a little kiss. A peck. A light brushing of her lips against his face. Embarrassed or giddy or some feeling that couldn't be contained made her pull away. It felt like flying too close to the sun.

She was half way to turning her back with excitement, when he caught her hand and pulled her back. He meant to kiss her cheek, in exchange for her kiss, but she turned her head and their lips collided. Her hand flew to her mouth to cover a squeal.

"Sorry," he said, wondering if he'd done something wrong. She was frozen in shock. He was nervous. He couldn't tell how she was feeling. "I guess I'm not very good at this," he admitted, letting go of her. "I've never done this before."

She dropped her hands and smiled at him. "Me neither," she admitted. She leaned in to kiss his lips. He turned his head a little to avoid bonking noses. A brief pressing of lips. Strange that lips connecting softly in the night could send such shivers down their young bodies.

She pulled back, her face flushed, her heart racing. "Was that ok?" she asked, surprised at how forward she was being.

He looked dazed, but nodded. "Want to try again?" he asked, smiling.

She licked her lips, tilted her head a little, closed her eyes and they tried it again. A pressing of lips with a little more pressure. A little more suction. She could feel tingles all over. It was too much. She pulled away again.

He wasn't really sure how this was supposed to go. His pants were uncomfortably tight. "Are you ok?" he asked, surprised at the low husky tone of his voice. "Was that alright?"

"Yes," she sighed, surprised at the breathiness of her voice. She felt uncomfortably warm.

He let his forehead rest against hers, "you're so beautiful." He meant it when he said it, just like Uncle Jack suggested. Felt her blush.

"So are you," she smiled and leaned in for another kiss.

His hand came up to cradle her head. He wanted to hold her close as their lips met. Her arms found their way around his neck. She let her fingers comb up through his hair and smiled when she felt him sigh and relax into her touch. Their bodies coming together in a close embrace.

Self consciousness kept them from fully enjoying the moment. She wondered if it was appropriate to let her chest press against his. He leaned awkwardly trying to keep their touching above the waist. Yet they were too engrossed by each other to realize they had an audience.

* * *

As children, the twins were inseparable. Now that they were older, they found themselves separated more and more often. They found themselves invited to activities with children of their own gender. Though at home, Amir proved to be as adept as any girl in accessorizing dolls and Yasmin as skilled as any boy at running to catch a ball.

At home they would share the moments from their day. Funny moments. Things they learned. Gifts given or received. A small window into what it was like to be the sibling they were not.

Though he didn't always tell her about the kinds of things that men say about women. The kind of jeers and jokes and lewdness that was hilarious among friends, but took on a different tone when he heard similar things directed at his sister or mother. He hated that his father wasn't home. That even at age 13, he felt the a strange burden of responsibility to keep the women safe when his father was away.

Amir had lost track of his sister. Some time between drumming, Clara teaching them constellations and watching Jack and Elizabeth waltz by, he simply lost track of her. It wasn't that he worried exactly, she could certainly handle herself, but they usually kept tabs on each other.

He loved his sister more than anything, though he wouldn't admit it to himself or even know how to put that into words. He might tell those who asked that it was such a pain to have his little sister around all the time. It was only those times when they were apart that he would realize how empty his heart was without her.

"Hey," he asked, "has anyone seen my sister?"

The children shrugged and shook their heads. "Nope, haven't seen her," they said. "Maybe she's gone inside," they suggested.

Amir walked back towards the cabin when something caught his attention. He stopped and rubbed his eyes to see if maybe he was mistaken. He's not sure what happened next or what specific mix of confusion, anger and disbelief fuelled his actions.

Perhaps it was out of a sense of protection, that he must defend his sister from anyone that might sully her reputation. It was something he'd been thinking about lately.

Men on the docks were looking at her in ways that made him uncomfortable. They would say things that she might be too innocent to understand, but he'd been in the company of enough men to know that flattery could also be a threat. He learned the double meaning of words that men used to suggest the crudest of things with the most benign of syllables.

Perhaps it was out of a sense of betrayal that he would find Jeffery kissing his sister. That his best friend would have his hands all over her. That the shape of his trousers belied his true feelings. That he had talked to Jeffery about his concerns about the men on the docks and how angry they made him with their comments and their creepy looks. That Jeffery had agreed that if anything happened he would, of course, help Amir defend his sister, body and soul.

Perhaps somewhere deep down, Amir was afraid that the two people he loved the most in the world (other than his mother, of course), might love each other more, and he would find himself left behind.

Amir found himself pulling his best friend away from his sister. "Get away from her," he said shoving Jeffery hard enough that he stumbled back.

"What the hell, Amir?" asked Jeffery, catching his balance and shoving back.

"Stay away from my sister," he ordered, stabbing his finger into Jeffery's chest.

"No. why?" stuttered Jeffery, brushing Amir's arm away. He was confused. This was his best friend. What was happening? Amir shoved him again and Jeffery pushed back.

"Keep your dirty hands off of her you son of a whore," said Amir. It wasn't the first time Amir had called him that, but it had always been in jest. Like those times when he would call Amir his sweet little drummer boy, like the aunties would when they pinched his cheeks. But it was different this time. There was malice behind those words.

The taunt cut Jeffery in a way he didn't expect. Maybe somewhere deep inside he was also shamed by his mother's profession, that he worried about how it might hold him back. He worried what people would think of him. He didn't think he had to worry about what his friends thought.

Jeffery pushed back hard. "Leave my mother out of it."

"Make me!" Amir's fists were up.

"Amir, stop," said Yasmin, putting herself between the boys before either could throw a punch. Her brother pushed her hard. Defiant, she pushed him back. "Stop this foolishness, Amirjan."

"No," he said, "I can't believe you! Don't you see? I'm doing you a favour khanoomi."

Yasmin was so angry and dumbfounded by Amir's explanation she cut him off by slapping him across the face. Amir hit back and Yasmin dropped like a sack of potatoes.

Amir was surprised to see her go down. He didn't mean to hit her that hard. It's not like they never argued before, nor like those arguments never got physical. It's not even like she didn't win her fair share of those fights. He stood for a moment with his mouth hanging open, worried about how still she lay.

Jeffery rushed to her side. Everything was a blur for Amir. Time had slowed. The world around him seemed closer and farther at the same. She stirred and pushed herself up and Amir was glad. He was about to smile his relief, when he felt one side of his face explode. He realized that Jeffery had punched him.

* * *

One of the joys of taking a new lover was exploring the uncharted landscape of her body. He wanted to learn every inch of her. Taste the salt of her skin. Find out what turned her on. What made her writhe with pleasure? Or sigh and moan and grind her hips against him, cry out his name and begging for more?

Damn women in trousers. Skirts or nothing at all, was much more sensible attire for this kind of activity. He'd managed to unbutton all her buttons, but couldn't slip her pants off, what with the way she had wrapped herself around him. Perhaps that was deliberate. Saucy wench, making him work for his prize.

"Stop!"

Jack paused. "Was that you?" He asked. But it was soon clear the voices were coming from the children. Something was very wrong. They held their breath. Listened to a high pitched voice screaming for someone or something to stop.

The drape of his dreds trapped a humid musky man-scent around her face. His sweat mingled with hers. "Damn," said Jack pushing himself off of her. He hated being responsible, but it seemed tonight the call of responsibility made him limp.

She felt all the urgency of their union ebb from their bodies. "Damn," he breathed in her ear. She sighed. Let her hands rest on his chest. Felt his heart slow as he exhaled. Deflated. His fingers floating over her as they dropped to his sides. A cool breeze played across her skin, leaving her suddenly self conscious of her undress.

She untangled herself from him. Ashamed of her wonton display. Ashamed at how good it felt to be desired. To be held. To be touched in ways she had not imagined. She was ashamed at her disappointment that they stopped. She kissed him sweetly on the lips. "Go," she whispered, releasing him to search the darkness for her clothes. "I'll catch up."

"You should be the one to go," he whispered. "You're better at this sort of thing." It was true perhaps that she enjoyed the responsibility that came with being the voice of reason. To be the one to negotiate a truce.

She pushed him along. "Go," she urged, "I'm right behind you."

He was so glad she was here with him. He felt himself falling in love again. Is that what this feeling was? A calm euphoria. He wasn't used to trusting other people. Betrayal, back stabbing, at best an uneasy alliance was his experience with so called friends. Everyone for themselves.

He sighed and kissed her before he turned and left, his hand trailing down her cheek, her arm, until there was nothing but a slight lingering of fingertips. He disappeared into the night.

She managed to find her clothes by feel rather than by sight. Shook off the sand and dressed. She found Jack's shirt and sash. Hugged them to herself. Breathed in his scent as she hurried on her way.

What was she thinking? If not for the children interrupting their ardour, she would have lain with a man who was not her husband. She would have let him have his way with her. Every way. She was quite sure she would have enjoyed every moment of it.

Her reluctance had never been because she didn't desire him. She had desired him before she'd even met him. It was more that she didn't think she should get tangled up with that pirate. Will had always warned her of that. They had joked back in Port Arthur about how Will had rescued her from a life of misery if things had gone differently and she'd found herself a pirate's wench.

Lying with Jack Sparrow was a bad idea, she was sure of that. Even if he brought her joy now, there was no future with him, was there? Falling in love with Jack only promised heartbreak. She would have to put her mind to falling out of love with him. She didn't know if she had it in her to be so cruel.

She hugged her belly. Her nausea had returned as she walked back along the beach. Whatever it was that was causing her stomach to curdle seemed to be getting worse. Was it guilt? Or bad fish? Or a gift from Will?

Her jaw clenched. She held her breath, but couldn't keep from gagging at the smell of some rotting thing that washed up on shore. She threw up into the sea, praying that whatever it was that was causing her this queasiness would stop once she emptied her stomach.

* * *

"Oy!" yelled Jack as he ran towards the melee. The onlookers scattered. "What the bloody hell is going on here?!" he cried as he pulled the boys apart.

Amir was still a flurry of feet and fists. Jack took a few hits before he was able to subdue him. "Stop!" he commanded. Jack's blood was up and his heart was racing as he pinned the boy's arms to his sides.

Amir found himself immobilized. He admitted to himself that the fight was over, calmed and went limp. Jack let him go. The boy sat up and rubbed his arm where Jack had grabbed him. Everything stilled but for the sound of crying.

Christ almighty. Jack stood with his hands on his hips and quickly surveyed the scene. Jeffery's face and clothes were a mess. Hopefully his nose was just bloodied and not broken. Amir was squinting. Maybe a black eye by morning.

The baby was crying. The girls were upset. Those boys, not bloodied, were trying not to look amused.

What happened? He shook his head and let out the breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He did not want to deal with this. He wanted to walk away, grab a bottle to drown in. What was he thinking? Playing Uncle is supposed to mean handing things off to mommy and daddy when things got messy.

Where the hell was Lizzie? He glanced back to see if she was coming. His heart sank a little when she wasn't there. He'd happily hand this mess off to her, as unfair as that might be, she would take it on. She was the type that liked responsibility. That why he voted her king, wasn't it? Not just that she was the only one who agreed they must come out from their fortifications to fight. No, not just that. But, no matter she was no where in sight.

He glared angrily at the boys, snickering to each other. "Does someone want to elucidate me as to what this is all about?!" he asked. The children cowered and fell silent. The tone of his voice set off a fresh round of bawling from the babe. "No? Off to bed with you then!"

Amir turned to slink off into the cabin. "Not you," said Jack, freezing Amir in his tracks. "Or you," he said to Jeffrey. "We need to have us a little chat, savvy?"

Jack had little patience for anything right now. He wanted to get these two ruffians cleaned up and sorted and see if there was any point in trying to salvage what had been shaping up to be an unexpectedly delightful evening with a certain young lady who had not easily succumbed to his charms. He stood with his arms crossed and glared until the onlookers turned and shuffled inside. "Clara, take the little one inside," he asked.

Nicholas was crying that silent, red faced, open mouthed cry. Clara untangled herself from Yasmin and tried to take his hand and coax him to come with her, but he pulled away. "He won't come, Uncle Jack," she complained. He was a snotty mess and she didn't want to wrestle him into submission.

Elizabeth sidled up and discretely handed Jack his shirt and sash. He caught her eye. A look of desperation and relief crossing his face. "Help" was the silent message that passed between them. Her hand slipping into his and he squeezed it in gratitude.

Elizabeth surveyed the scene. Amir and Jeffery looked injured and dishevelled. Yasmin stood to the side wiping her eyes, her face puffy from crying. "Here," she said, turning her attention to Clara and the toddler, "let me take him."

She picked up the screaming wriggling boy. She shushed him and soothed him. Her shoulder soon soaked through with tears and snot. Nicholas eventually calmed in her arms as she whispered all things to assure him he was safe.

She carried him over to his brother. Where Jack was addressing the matter of a bloodied nose. "Jeffery," she said, "tell your brother you're fine." The smell of blood was making her queasy. She turned her back so the boy could see his brother over her shoulder.

"It's alright Nicky," mumbled Jeffery. "Go inside with Miss Elizabeth. I'll be in soon."

And with that small assurance, Elizabeth shepherded the girls and the rest of the onlookers inside. Jack paused a moment to watch her walk away. The toddler on her hip causing a different swing to her step. God, how he loved her.

He sighed and turned his attention back to Jeffery. "Did he just break your face or does anything else hurt?" he asked.

"Is it broken?" asked Amir, concerned about the state of his friends nose.

Jeffery shook his head. "Just bruises, I think," he muttered to Jack, while glaring at Amir. He was hurt and confused. He knew Amir was a hothead, but their sparring usually ended with a laugh. This time Amir wasn't piling his punches. He didn't know what to think. He didn't want to think about it. He was tired. He wanted to go home.

Jack turned his attention to Amir. "You ok?" he asked, kneeling to better inspect his wounds. "Just the eye?"

Amir nodded a little shamed now that he'd cooled down. But not shamed enough that he didn't share the blame. "You shouldn't have done it," he said to Jeffery, without meeting his eyes.

"No," said Jeffery, "you shouldn't have... I can't believe you." He shook his head.

Jack was annoyed. "What happened?" He stood there while the boys glared at each other.

"He was kissing my sister," Amir explained. "I told him stop. Then he punched me."

"You left out the bit about knocking Yasmin off her feet," said Jeffery. "What's wrong with you? You know better than to hit a girl!"

Jack frowned at Amir. "You hit a girl?" he chided. "Even you should know better than to hit a girl. Your mother complains about your temper, but I didn't think you out of control,"

"She's not a girl! She's my sister!" Amir fired back. He had always scrapped with his sister. She had always held her own. Maybe his anger got the best of him tonight. He worried about that sometimes, but he didn't want to think about it now. He didn't want to think that he could have really hurt her. He turned to glare at Jeffery, "and you shouldn't have had your dirty hands all over her. Poking at her with your..." he gestured at Jeffery's midsection.

"Hey! You take that back," said Jeffery leaping across the gap the throttle Amir.

Jack held him back and got the two of them to settle back down. He remembered these boys as young babes. He wasn't really home enough to watch them grow by anything but leaps and bounds. And here they were on the cusp of manhood. Talking about boners. Gods help him. Where was Lizzie to save him from this? "Were you stealing kisses from Amir's sister?" he asked.

"What?" said Jeffery. "What? No! No, it wasn't like that. We saw you and Miss Elizabeth dancing and she wanted to dance. You know how she likes to dance. So I danced with her."

"No big deal, right?" he added, as much to convince himself as his audience. In better light they would have seen him blush bright red. "I mean you're the one who begged me to come to your mom's dance classes." He paused while Amir shrugged. "And then she kissed me. That's all," he said, trying to downplay the incident. His heart was racing.

"Liar," Amir spat the word like a curse. He was holding a cool damp cloth to his eye.

Jack sighed. "What did I say this morning about stealing kisses from girls with knives in their hands or brothers with their better interests at heart?" said Jack, eyeballing them one at a time.

"It's not like that," said Jeffery. His head hurt. He really wanted to blow his nose, but was afraid it would start bleeding again. "I wouldn't do anything to hurt her. You know that," he said to Amir.

"You're taking advantage of her," accused Amir. "Girls are stupid and emotional. They need a man to take care of them."

Jack coughed and cleared his throat to keep from choking on his laugh. "Don't," he sputtered, "don't let Lizzie hear you. She's smarter and more capable than most. Mistress Ching would have your hide for talk like that."

Amir acquiesced and mumbled his agreement. He turned his attention back to Jeffery. "You promised me you'd help me defend her honour," he said. "How is this defending her honour?"

Jeffery shrugged. He didn't say anything for awhile. "I don't know what that means to you, Amir. I promised never to hurt her and I'll keep that promise." He didn't know what else to say. "She's my friend," he stuttered. "She's like a sister," he tried. That wasn't it either. He didn't know how to say what he needed to say. "I wouldn't hurt her."

Amir glared at him. "She's not your sister. She's mine," he huffed, feeling particularly possessive of her. He knew that was probably just Jeffery's way of saying he loved her, without saying he loved her. "You're supposed to be my best friend. Why didn't you tell me?" Amir felt betrayed that this secret was kept from him.

"I'm sorry Amir," said Jeffery. He was tired. "Maybe I should have told you I liked her. But you would have laughed. How could someone like her be interested in someone like me?"

"I don't know, shaq," said Amir, softening his tone. There was lots to like about Jeffery, no one knew that better than Amir. It wasn't the worst thing to have your best friend fall for for your sister. Maybe he and Jeffery could become brothers for real. "I guess my sister's never been that good at judging a man's character. You can be a real asshole sometimes," he quipped.

"So can you, Amirjan" said Jeffery, using Yasmin's term of endearment, but the tension was gone and they shared a smile.

* * *

The two girls hid themselves in the corner. Yasmin was looking a shoulder to cry on, while Elizabeth busied the younger children with the promise of hot cocoa before bed.

"It's not my fault," said Yasmin tearfully to Clara, "is it?" She worried that the boy's had done real damage to each other. "What if Uncle Jack hadn't come and they killed each other?"

Clara shook and head and scoffed, "they weren't going to kill each other." Her brothers would fight all the time. "It's just something boys do," she added reassuringly. At least, that's what her father said, and her brothers seemed none the worse for it.

"Amir is terrible," she announced in a terse whisper. Her face still stung where he had struck her. She banged her knee badly when she fell. "I hate him."

"He shouldn't have hit you like that," Clara admitted. It wasn't exactly uncharacteristic for Amir to fly off the handle. Nor was it unusual for those two to get physical in their arguments, but she'd never seen either of the hit hard enough to knock the other down. She hugged her friend and let her cry.

"So," said Clara, looking to change the subject, "what happened with you and Jeffery?" In all the uproar, she hadn't heard what happened.

Yasmin's mind drifted back to that kiss. Not the one she planted on his cheek, nor the other one where she turned her head and there lips touched. No, it was the one that sent shivers down her spine. Or the one after that. She couldn't help but smile. "I don't know," she giggled.

Clara smiled. "Did you kiss him?" she asked.

"Yeeeeeessss..." sang Yasmin slyly. Her tears drying up. She blew her nose.

"Did he kiss you back?" Clara asked, shifting so she could see her friend's face.

Yasmin ducked to hide her smile. "Yeeesss..." she sighed.

Clara's eyes grew a little wider. "On the lips?" she asked, her tone rising.

Yasmin covered her face with her hands. "Yesssss...!" She said. The girls covered their mouths to muffle their squeals of excitement.

Then the door opened and Yasmin's face darkened at the sight of her brother. His one eye almost swollen shut. Her heart broke to see him hurt, but she was too angry to go to him.

She got up and brushed past her brother to see Jeffery . Her hero. He was the one who leapt to her defence. He was injured and it was her fault. He looked less frightening now that he'd washed the blood off his face. She felt guilt and worry twist in her belly. "Are you ok?" she asked, wanting to hug him, but afraid to touch him. She wrung her hands. Twisting and untwisting the corner of her sash. "I'm so sorry this happened. Are you alright?" She looked him over with concern.

"It's ok," he said, not used to anyone fussing over him. He didn't know how to reassure her. "I'm alright."

She was staring at the bloodstains on his shirt. "We should get this to soak before the stain sets," she said absently. It was the kind of thing her mother would say.

He smiled and tipped her chin up to see that her pretty eyes had been crying. "Are you alright?" he asked. She nodded but looked away, the tears returning to her eyes. "He shouldn't have hit you," he said.

She shrugged and shook her head. That was Amir sometimes. She'd hit him first this time. She should have been ready for him.

"He shouldn't have hit you," Jeffery repeated and brushed away a tear on her cheek. "I would never do that. I promised Amir I would never let anyone hurt you."

Amir watched their exchange from the table. They were standing too close together. Their heads almost touching. It hurt him to have his sister brush past him and offer someone else comfort. He didn't realize what heartbreak was until this night.

Elizabeth sat down next to him and offered him a mug of cocoa. He grunted his thanks. "There's a good glug of rum in it," she said with a wink. "Your Uncle Jack said you were man enough to take it. Besides," she added, "it'll dull the pain."

He cleared his throat and nodded, but didn't meet her eyes. He took a sip of his drink. It was sweet and burned his throat. More pleased that Uncle Jack called him a man than anything else. His face felt hot.

"Let's see your eye," she said, taking the cloth from him. She frowned at the swelling. He had a fat lip to match. "You want to tell me what happened?"

He shook his head and sipped his drink slowly. He glared at his sister and Jeffery. He felt so disrespected by her. For "fornicating"

with his best friend and now for taking his side.

He and Jeffery were square. Jeffery should tell her as much. He felt sick with guilt for knocking her down. He was angry and confused and didn't know if the rum was making it better or worse. He felt like he was going to cry.

She dipped his rag in clean water and rang it out. "Keep this on it," she said, folding the cloth into a square and pressing it gently against his eye. It felt good. Cooled him down. "If we're lucky you might not get too much of a black eye by morning. Could do the same for your lip when you've finished your drink. It'll help keep the swelling down."

She sat quietly watching him stew in his emotions. "It's hard to have arguments with people you love," she said. "But they still love you and you still love them back. They didn't fall in love with each other to spite you."

She glanced over at Jack who was ordering children about to get them organized for bed. Girls on one side, boys on the other. Just to keep decorum and decency, given the night's excitement. She didn't mean to fall in love with Jack. That was never her intention. He looked up and caught her eye. She looked away, filled with butterflies and bit her lip to keep from smiling.

"You should talk to your sister," said Elizabeth. "She loves you very much and will forgive you, whatever happened." Perhaps she should take her own advice. If only she could speak with Will. She got up and left Amir to his thoughts. Hurrying away before before anyone could see the tears in her eyes.

* * *

 ** _Omg! will this island get away never end..?! Almost done. So close..._**

 ** _Writing OC's is way harder than non-OC's and not as fun, especially when they take over most of a chapter. I also discovered I'm a lover not a fighter. I can't write visceral fight scenes the way I'd like to. I tried. There was a lot of deleting happening. I just haven't been in enough fights or something. So... fade to black._**

 ** _I think we're getting to a place where future chapters will focus back on sparrabeth. Which should be more fun to write. Which should mean quicker updates._**

 ** _Thanks everyone for sticking with this story. Please follow, favourite and review._**


	28. Chapter 28

**Another chapter! Probably as full of typos and grammatical errors and plot hole inconsistencies as the rest of this sorry tale. Thanks for sticking with it. Special thanks to my reviewers: HannaMi3, ako94, kcpiratey05, Dragons-Twilight1992, guest, kardomon, River, QueensDoItBetter.**

* * *

Chp 28

 _Drink with me._ Elizabeth was holding her head in her hands when he tapped her shoulder with the bottle. It had been a long day. She was exhausted.

She'd kept one eye on the twins' tête-à-tête, ready to distract or console, all the while sorting out childish squabbles among the others of who would sleep where and who would get which blanket. Tucking in the little ones with a kiss. With everyone more or less sorted, she was grateful that the day was finally over.

 _Drink with me._ That's what he said when the candle had burned down and children had passed out from boredom or exhaustion. She had him to herself. Something she had been worried about, but now it felt like a gift to have this time alone with him.

The children had asked for a story. Jack obliged them with a tale of sailing. The blueness of the sky. The vastness of the sea. Finding the wind. His descriptions so fine you could almost feel the sea spray on your face. Hear the seabirds call.

 _Get to the good part,_ yawned the children. They snuggled up to each other, sharing blankets.

 _This is the good part,_ Jack explained as he sipped his rum and rolled another cigarette. He described the sea as he would an old friend or lover. He knew all her fickle ways. He was fascinated by her every mundane detail. He could watch her all day and never tire of her ever changing visage.

 _Noooooooooo..._ whined the sleepy children, rubbing their eyes to stay awake. _What happens?_

 _Okay, okay, I'm getting to it, I'm getting to it,_ droned Jack, his voice low and slow. Taking his time to dole out the details of his story. One by one the children drifted off to sleep, dreaming of life on the sea.

 _Drink with me._ An invitation. With the candle out, it was so dark he had to feel his way past sleeping bodies to find her. He settled on the floor next to her and stretched his back against the wall. _Thanks for helping with the kiddies tonight._

Her head was buzzing from the day. A little rum would help calm the waters. Their fingers touched when she took the bottle and tipped it to her lips. A small sip of liquor spreading its warmth through her veins. _It was nothing,_ she said. _You're good with them. They're lucky to have you in their lives._ She rested her head on his shoulder and passed the bottle back to him.

The rain had started again. The patter of rain on the roof masked the sound of his sigh. He drank. _I'm sorry we were interrupted._ His arm looping around her waist. He pulled her close. His fingers playing with the edge of her shirt. _It's been a long day. You must be exhausted._ He said, to give her an out.

 _So must you be._ She drank. She didn't really want to be drunk. She just wanted drunkenness to be an excuse for what she really wanted to do. After all this time, all of the reasons she had for fending off his advances didn't seem to matter anymore. Perhaps she was done with grieving. Perhaps their dance had changed her mind. Perhaps she needed a distraction. Perhaps she was tired of giving a damn what other people thought, so she drank. _Aren't you tired?_

 _Yes._ He wished there was more light. He wanted to see her pretty face. Fingertips brushing up her sleeve to her cheek. He smiled when she kissed his fingers as they danced across her lips. He drank from the bottle and traced her contours. _But there's someone keeping me up._

She drank. It felt so good to be with someone. No, not just with someone, with Captain Jack Sparrow. Jack. She whispered his name like a prayer. Felt the bristle of his beard against her lips. Her arms seeking the warmth of his torso.

He pulled from the bottle. Blind in this darkness, everything by feel. His fingers finding her edges. He whispered sweet things into her hair. _Bonita. I'm in love with the shape of you. I want you._ His fingers wandering under her clothes.

She drank. Swung her legs across his lap and curled up in his arms. She leaned into his caresses. Devil may care. It didn't matter if Will was dead or not quite dead. It didn't matter that she was married or widowed. It didn't matter a whit that she was not (yet) married to Jack. It didn't matter that she wasn't sure if she ever wanted to marry again. It didn't really matter that she might be pregnant. That he was about to set sail in a few days and she might never see him again, didn't matter.

It mattered that she was with him. It mattered that she felt safe with him. It mattered that it felt like they were the only two people in the world when he looked at her. It mattered that when he touched her the rest of her yearned to be touched by him.

How could something that felt this right be wrong? He made her feel good. Beautiful. Desired. Loved. She wanted to feel these things. She deserved it. Didn't she?

He had proven himself a good man. That mattered. She trusted him. With her life. With her heart. She trusted him. She would give herself over to him. Every piece of herself that he was willing to take.

She drank. Felt a warmth that started in her core and flooded her body. She craved his touch. Felt him loose the sash under her shirt Coaxed him with her own whispers. _I trust you. Stop talking. Kiss me._

She straddled his lap. Her knees pressed against the wall. Her arms braced beside his head. Her mouth finding his. She let herself drown in his rum soaked kiss. He put down the bottle and helped her undo the buttons of her shirt.

* * *

Ssssszzzzz...sngork sngork fffffsssshhhhzzzzzz... zzzzzzz ... ... sssss sssss sngaaaaaaaaaak kaak snork

 _He was on the deck of the Pearl. It was a warm day. The kind of day that made the horizon look blurry for all the haze floating in the air. He thought he could see her off in the distance. He yearned to have her arms around him. Those arms reaching for him across the water. He could almost feel their caress. Her voice called to him._

"Jack," she whispered as she shook him gently. "Jack," she said a little louder.

Ssssszzzzz...sngork!? Jack was annoyed to be woken from such a sweet dream. He opened one eye. The moon must have risen. He could make out a row of eyes staring at him. Damn. He coughed and snorted to clear his airways.

Maybe polishing off the bottle after making out with Lizzie was not his brightest idea. She'd fallen asleep in his arms. He finished the rum before nodding off himself. "Was I snoring?" He mumbled as he turned onto his side. His head was heavy. Maybe if he fell back asleep he could get back to... sssssssssfffffzzzzzzz... snaaAAARKkkk ...fffffffzzzzzzzzzz... snaaAAARKkk...

 _He lay in a deep soft bed. So deep he seemed to be completely surrounded by clean white linens. Someone was lying in his arms. Her skin warm and silky next to his. Ripples of blue hair cascading from her pretty head resting on his shoulder. He ran his hands down her back, past her waist to a svelte slippery tail that slapped gently against his legs._

"JACK!" Elizabeth shook him hard.

"BUH!?" Yelled Jack, waking with a start. There was just enough light to make out the outline of her pretty face. Long hair falling in waves. Mermaid. "Mmmmmm..." he hummed, as he embraced her. She smelled so good. He breathed her in. So warm. Such a comely lass. "It's you..." He rested his head, heavy with a drunken fog, on her shoulder. He stiffened with the memory of her moaning under his touch. "Lizzie..." his breath reeked of rum.

"Jack," she started, her tone firm, serious. But she gasped when his hand slipped under her shirt and climbed the rungs of her rib cage. Shamed at how her body swooned at his touch.

His drunken kiss was wet and sloppy, landing more on her chin than her lips. He was deadweight with gravity pulling him down. He breathed her name into her collarbones. She shifted sideways as he fell asleep again, sliding awkwardly down her front until his head rested on her lap.

SnoRFffff Sssnark fffewwwwwwsssssssssss... ack SsNarFff ... ... ... SsNarFff shhhhhhheeeewwwwwwwwww

 _He was being kissed. The kind of kiss that went on and on, until one of you must break it off in order to catch your breath. Her hair floating in a cloud around them both. It was then that he realized he was underwater. He panicked, kicking hard to surface, but she held him close and kissed him again. A kiss from a mermaid can save a man from drowning._

Elizabeth heaved his head off her lap. He lolled onto his back. SnnkkkkkAAAAaaaKK... ssssssssssssss... sngork... ... zzzzzzzzzzzzzz

She turned to the frowning, bleary eyed children, "Plan B."

* * *

She woke up late that morning with a headache and a queasy stomach. The nausea was becoming a regular thing, but the headache was new. Getting drunk with Jack last night seemed like a fine idea at the time. It felt less fine now.

She looked down to see the buttons of her shirt were askew. She quickly fixed her buttons and tried not to think about last night's infidelity. Tired not to feel longing or excitement or happiness. But she did. Tried not to feel confusion or frustration or guilt. But she did.

She could blame him for taking advantage of her. Blame the dancing. Blame the drink. Call him a scoundrel and a curr. A pirate. But her heart knew the truth. It was her choice. She wanted him.

She could use another drink to help her forget her morals. Ah, but she could see the empty bottle he'd left in the corner. What were morals anyway, in this land abandoned by her Christian god? Escaping purgatory? Unleashing a sea goddess? What, in this heathen world, was so bad about sharing small pleasures with a man to whom she was not wed?

Back to reality. This morning she found herself dry heaving in the woods, after attending to other morning necessities. She checked on Jack on her way back to the cabin. Her head full of daydreams of living with him on the high seas. Or perhaps a quiet life somewhere on a piece of land they could claim for themselves. A brood of children, as testament of their love. She shook those rainbows out of her head. One of those dreams was from another time with another man, she told herself. Still, she kissed Jack's cheek before she left him.

Everyone had slept in. Elizabeth put a kettle on. Breakfast would be ginger tea and hardtack to settle her stomach. Nicholas, the first of the children to wake, crawled into her lap and lay his head on her shoulder. She gave him a piece of biscuit to gnaw on and hugged him close, imagining him as her own.

What would life be like, just she and her baby? Here at Shipwreck with other children to play with. If she could find them a little place to call their own? Find enough work to get by or catch enough fish to keep them from starving. It would be as good a life as any and better than some.

It wasn't the pampered life her father had wished for her. But she never really wanted that life for herself. Her poor father. Always buying her pretty things to make up for not being around. She would have preferred his time to his gifts. Even now, when she would do well to have a proper dress and shoes, she would trade it all to have him back.

Grief was one of those things she carried with her always. It changed in it shape and weight. Becoming something to hold rather than something that overwhelm her. A part of her, rather than a burden. In this moment she felt the weight of it.

She tried to keep the grief at bay. Staying alive was a distraction. Work was a distraction. The children were a distraction. Jack was a distraction. Just a distraction. That's all. Someone to keep the sadness away. And when he set sail in a few short days... What was she going to do without him?

She ate dry crumbs of her biscuit and sipped her tea, to settle her stomach, the others woke and began their morning routines. Their ruckus was more than her hangover could bear. She appointed two of older children in charge of the stove and said, "I'm taking my breakfast on the beach."

Peace. She sat in the shade and watched the sea roll in. She checked the wind and frowned at the white caps on the waves. It would be a rough trip back to Shipwreck in these waters. She hugged her belly and sipped her tea.

Nicholas, not interested in breakfast, toddled along the shore searching for treasure. He would bring her back sea shells and bright pebbles and bits of beach glass rubbed smooth over time. A white feather with one grey edge. A flat piece of driftwood with a knothole in one end that you could look through. A piece of shiny red coral, as thick as her thumb and hollow like a bead. Every piece of flotsam and jetsam, a treasure that was both cherished and forgotten.

In twos and threes the children appeared on the beach. One last game, one last song, before they returned to Shipwreck. It made her smile to see them play.

Elizabeth had spent much of her childhood alone. Too much of a girl to play with the boys. Too much of a tomboy to play with the girls. She was so pleased to have Will as a playmate, because he would just agree to do whatever she asked. She was bossy. She smiled at the memory.

Then Will was sent away and she was alone again. Maybe she preferred to be alone, than be in the company of well-bred feather headed young ladies. Or worse, to be forced to keep the company of men who were interested in her more as an object than a person. A trophy of sorts. Some pretty bauble to admire, an entertainment, after a long voyage.

Such an odd girl, they would whisper. She'll be an old maid with no one but her doting father. So confident is she to be turning down proposals, as if someone better might come along. Elizabeth didn't care to marry. She wanted adventure. Well, she got her wish didn't she?

The children called to her to join them. "Come play with us," they cried. She declined. But watched them chase each other up and down the shore.

 _Oh... catch ahold this one, catch ahold that one_

 _Swing around this one, dance around she_

 _Catch ahold this one, catch ahold that one_

 _Diddle dum this one, diddle dum dee._

She got up and walked to the waters edge, letting the water lap at her ankles. She sang their song quietly under her breath. Staring at the horizon. The endless rolling of the waves.

And then something different. Did you see it? Away on the horizon. She was quite sure she saw it. A flicker of long auburn hair in the distance. A flash of sliver like the tail of a big fish flipping out of the water before diving down again. She strained to see it again, but it was gone.

 _Diddle dum this one, diddle dum dee._ Sang the mermaid chorus in her head.

* * *

 _Uncle Jack got up in the morning_

 _He got up in a heck of a tear_

 _And ripped the arse right out of his britches_

 _Now he's got nare pair to wear!_

"Are you awake yet?" Started the chorus. "Are you up?" They quipped. "Uncle Jack, are you still sleeping?"

Jack half opened one eye. Where was he? On the beach? Under a blanket? How in the world did he get here? Where was Lizzie? Did they..? Last night..? He couldn't quite remember what he dreamt and what was real.

Shirt check. Shirt on, but unbuttoned. Pants check. Pants on and fully buttoned. So... probably nothing..? Where the hell was he? He peeked carefully around, still feigning sleep. Why was there no pretty girl lying next to him? It could only be a bad sign to wake up with this kind of hangover and have no girl in his bed.

His head was pounding. At least the sky was overcast, but still felt far brighter than necessary. He closed his eye and lay very still. Where was that girl? Waking up would be so much nicer if she was the first thing he saw upon waking. His half awake pondering of what he might do if she was lying next to him, was rudely interrupted.

"Should we poke him?" Was their next question. "What if he gets mad?" "We could bring him breakfast." Oh, well that might not be so bad, thought Jack, feeling a little peckish. "I think he's faking. You can tell because you can't hear him snoring."

Jack faked a snore.

"Uncle Jaaa-ack..." they sang. "Time to get uuu-uup..."

Jack curled up and pulled the blanket over his head. He knew the next thing might involve tiny fingers prying open his eye lids. Or jumping. That would be bad. Something about small children jumping on sleeping bodies always resulted in small pointy knees and elbows prodding all his soft spots.

He really should get up and moving. He just needed a few more minutes. A few more minutes for his head to stop pounding. Just a few minutes to gather his wits before getting on with the day. Find out where that pretty lass wandered off to and if he'd done anything stupid to offend her.

Oh shite. They were whispering. Whispering with stifled giggles, meant some plot was being hatched, where surely he would be their victim. He peaked out between his eyelashes to see what they were up to. They crept towards him, while shushing each other. "Quiet, he'll hear you," they chided.

When they came within arms reach, Jack sprang up to grab the closest child and tickle him into submission, but he smashed his head on something. That's when he realized he'd been sleeping under a table. He let out a string of curses.

The children squealed and scattered, but Jack was able grab one and send him into fits of debilitating giggles. Willy laughed until he couldn't breathe. Jack stood up with the boy slung over his shoulder trying to look menacing.

"Do me! Do me!" the children cried for Jack's attention, dancing around him with their arms outstretched. Between the brightness of the day and the high pitched shrieking of the children he thought his head might explode.

"Does someone want to explain to me how I ended up out here?" He held Willy upside down by the ankles and shook him 'til he cried for mercy.

The children rushed Jack, rescuing Willy and knocking Jack to the ground. He wrestled them briefly, but soon lay there exhausted with half a dozen children and their pointy little knees and elbows piled on top of him. "Ok ok," he conceded. "Mercy. Now someone tell me how I ended up out here and where Lizzie's wandered off to."

They let him up and Marta put her small hand in his to lead him back to the cabin. "Oh Uncle Jack, you were snoring SoOOOoooOOOoooo loud!," explained Marta. She covered her ears dramatically. "Nobody could sleep! So we had to carry you outside. In the middle of the night!" She was so excitable, she almost sounded like she didn't believe her own story.

"You got fat, Uncle Jack. You're really heavy," said Willy, trotting along and taking Jack's other hand. "Miss Elizabeth carried your head and shoulders and we carried your legs," he said, grabbing Jack's leg to demonstrate.

"Hey, stop that," said Jack, shaking the boy off his leg.

"But we gave you a blanket," said Wakesa, "and we put you under the table so you wouldn't get rained on."

"She must really like you," said Marta. "You're a snorer, you look dishevelled and you smell terrible, but she was still so nice to you."

"Hey, what do you mean I smell terrible?" asked Jack, trying to smell himself.

Marta shook her head and wrinkled her nose, "you just do, Uncle Jack. Bad." The boy's laughed and held their noses.

Jack sighed and rolled his eyes. He smelled like sweat and smoke and rum, which was how he smelled most of the time. Lizzie had questioned his hygiene in the past. Maybe he should take a moment to wash up before looking for her.

"Do you really think she likes me?" he asked, once again finding himself discussing matters of the heart with these ragamuffins. Perhaps it was more like thinking out loud. He need something to cure this hangover. Maybe just some hardtack to soak up whatever rum was still sloshing around in him. "Maybe she's just being nice? She's nice to everyone, isn't she? Or maybe she hit her head and doesn't really know what she's doing?"

Marta rolled her eyes. "Oh, Uncle Jack," she said in her exasperated way, "you need to buy her jewelry if you want her to REALLY like you."

* * *

"Is she sad Uncle Jack?" asked Marta, watching Elizabeth stroll along the beach, searching the horizon. "She's all alone. Mama says it's strange that she's alone all the time."

Jack frowned a little. He didn't like to think of Elizabeth as sad or alone. Then he frowned some more, as he too would soon be sad and alone. But those thoughts could wait for another day.

"There is a young maiden who lives all alone," he sang in reply. "She lives all alone on the shore-o." Elizabeth turned and smiled at his song. She turned again and again, in a dance with the wind to blow the hair out of her face. When they reached her, Jack bowed to kiss her hand. "There's nothing she can find to comfort her mind, But to roam all alone on the shore."

Elizabeth curtsied and let Jack hold her hand. She sang her counterpoint, "T'was of the young captain who sailed the salt sea."

"Is she singing about you, Uncle Jack?" ask Willy. "But you're old!" Jack frowned, and his sister Lucy hushed him.

"Let the wind blow high blow low-o," Elizabeth continued. "I will die I will die the young captain did cry, If I don't have that maid on the shore."

Jack feigned dying, as he fell to his knees clutching his chest. The children laughed at his antics. "Well I have lots of silver I have lots of gold," sang Jack.

"Mama says you don't ever have any money," said the ever helpful Marta.

Jack sneered at the commentary. "I have lots of costly ware-o," he insisted. "I'll divide I'll divide with my jolly ship's crew, If they row me that maid on the shore."

"After much persuasion they got her aboard," Elizabeth sang, playing coy, she danced away, making Jack give chase. "Let the wind blow high blow low-o. They replaced her away in his cabin below, Here's adieu to all sorrow and care."

"They replaced her away in his cabin below," sang Jack taking Elizabeth in his arms and waltzing her about wildly in the surf until she stumbled against him laughing. "Let the wind blow high blow low-o. She's so pretty and neat she's so sweet and complete, She sung captain and sailors to sleep."

Elizabeth smiled, "Then she robbed him of silver, she robbed him of gold." The children laughed at this turn of events. A fitting end to this song. She was the pirate king after all. "She robbed him of costly ware-o. Then took his broadsword instead of an oar, And paddled away to the shore."

"Pirate," Jack hissed in her face.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, while the children jeered. "Pirate," she hissed in return.

* * *

 **This chapter was brought to you by fanciful use of italics and the songs "Lots of Fish in Bonavist' Harbour" and "Maid on the Shore"... and a little tiny bit of Ed Sheeran, "shape of you" to start things off.**

 **I'm finding it a bit of a downer writing Elizabeth lately. She's a bit of a mess. Confusing to write, perhaps confusing to read, but she's confused - and probably hormonal, if she is pregnant, right? So I'm glad we have Jack and lighthearted musical numbers for comic relief. I mean she did try to commit suicide in like chapter 2-3 of this sordid tale, and depression and grief is a hard thing to shake, and it can be hard on the people around you too. Just trying to keep it real.**

 **And the mermaids have reappeared. Have you figured out when/how this happens? I've tried to be consistent, though I haven't quite figured out how they will or won't connect before this tale is done.**

 **If you have enjoyed this (and even if you haven't) please follow, favourite and review.**


	29. Chapter 29

**_Sorry this has taken so long. Thank you for your patience and your reviews: QueensDoItBetter, kardamon, Smile Back, HannaMi3, River, elora brunelle._**

 ** _Disney owns the things, I'm just mucking around in their universe._**

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Chp 29

She held his hand on the beach. There was something strangely intimate about holding her hand. Hand holding was not something he often did. He would offer his arm to a woman, as would be appropriate in fine company. He might even put his arm around their shoulders or their waist if he was being familiar.

Really, the only time he'd held a woman's hand was when trying to steal the rings from her fingers. He quickly checked to make sure all of his rings were still there. But there was something about this entanglement of fingers with the pirate king that he found particularly disarming. He might even get used to it. If there was time to get used to such things. He was surprised to feel a sigh escape him.

He looked at her, while trying not to look like he was looking. Her face as tanned as any sailor. Her neck bare of any adornment. So too the lobes of her ears. Her calloused hand free of any rings. Hatless with her hair loose falling almost halfway down her back. Bleached blonde in the sun.

He wondered if she missed being dressed in pretty gowns. If she preferred to be powdered, painted and bejewelled. To be pampered and protected. Is that what she wished for? No, Elizabeth shared his love for freedom and adventure. Didn't she?

Maybe Marta was right, maybe every woman longed for gifts of jewels and pretty things. He did as well, so he could hardly hold that against her. A gold bangle for her slender wrist. An amber pendant to adorn her throat. Drop pearl earrings dangling from her ears.

Beautiful brown eyes caught him staring. She looked away with a smile. The kind of smile that suggested she knew she had him hooked. Siren. He found himself so mesmerized by her.

She said something to him, he heard the melody of her voice, but missed the words. Something about the weather, perhaps. He nodded and smiled, unsure. She laughed at his bewildered look. That tinkling laugh like the shimmer of sun on water. She squeezed his hand gently, as if to say, "all is well, as long as we're together." He felt his heart melt.

Bugger.

That feeling was starting to happen far too often. That was not good. It made him anxious and uncomfortable. It made him feel like running. The last thing he needed was to fall into love's trap with Elizabeth Swann.

The crew would crow their "I told you so's." It wasn't a surprise to them. Jack could hardly deny that he enjoyed her company. This was supposed to be a tryst. Just some fun with a willing participant. It wasn't supposed to mean anything.

Captain Jack Sparrow was not fool enough to confuse lust with love. To be sure he lusted for her. There was no way his body could deny it. He desired her. He wanted to hold her down and do terrible wonderful things to her. He wanted to find himself inside her and make her scream his name in pleasure.

It was one thing to feel that rush of pursuit. To feel his heart racing. To find himself breaking into a sweat. But now he found himself thinking about how lucky he would be to wake up to see her face next to him every morning. He found himself missing her whenever he thought of how soon he'd be leaving.

He found himself contemplating his future... or rather their future. This was not something he did. Well not like that. He never expected to live past 20. But here he was, half way through his thirties and contemplating growing old with a woman who was married to an immortal.

He shook that thought out of his head. There was a plan now. The crew was picked. Preparations made. They would sail the day after the new moon for Melaka to find the Flor du Mar. Reports suggested that there were 60 tons of gold aboard that ship when it went missing. Jack was sure that if anyone could find it, he could.

But now he was having a problem shaking this feeling of not wanting to leave. He even found himself contemplating what he might do if he stayed. It wasn't supposed to be this way. He wasn't supposed to have feelings for her. Nor did he expect her to hold any feelings for him. Not like this.

It's true he was not shy about his fondness for the girl. To be honest, he'd hoped to bed her before the Pearl set sail, so that he could get her out of his system. Like a snippet of song that gets stuck in your head and the only way to free yourself is to sing the whole thing.

He had simply wanted to gift her with a little carnal pleasure and to take some for himself before he left. Certainly, that was fair play? He was quite sure he would make a better lover than that whelp husband of hers. What a waste. Poor girl, still in the flower of her youth.

If her could have his way with her and quell this lust, then he could put her behind him. They could be "just friends." Or not be friends. It wasn't as though he hadn't sailed away from other women who wanted more from him. Now, he wasn't so sure that bedding her would rid him of these fantasies. She'd gotten under his skin.

There was some truth in what Gibbs had said of him breaking the hearts of unsuspecting lassies. But you see, breaking other people's hearts was not his problem. He did not suffer other people's broken hearts. He would be off and away on some new adventure. It was only if he fell in love with them, that his heart might break to see them broken hearted.

He should have stuck with whores. There was no allusion of love in those situations. Not that they couldn't be loving in their interactions, but they both knew that it was fee for service and there were no expectations beyond each transaction. Sailors had a reputation for finding comfort in every port. Pirates reputations were certainly no better, if anything, worse.

Falling in love was the kind of trap that Jack had skillfully avoided by making himself just distasteful enough for people to hold him at arms length. It seemed that Elizabeth was immune to his questionable hygiene, his whoring, his poverty. For all his posturing, he couldn't imagine what good she saw in him. But he couldn't help feeling secretly pleased that she did.

The only way to avoid heartbreak, once you'd fallen in love, was to tie yourself to that person. A prisoner of their heart and yours, and for a free spirit like Captain Jack Sparrow, the thought of being trapped, even by something like love, was rather like death itself.

This situation was beginning to make him anxious. He was starting to feel like he should run from this. Maybe a trip to the brothels would set him straight again. Variety was the spice of life. He enjoyed the spiciness of life, didn't he? Surely a romp with salty wench would fix him right up. Maybe that brunette with the big breasts, what was her name? The one that was always coming to find him.

Bedsides, Elizabeth had said she wanted to just be friends. She'd had been quite adamant about that. Insisting on chaperones and all. She was quite steadfast in considering herself married. She was just toying with him. He was just a distraction for her. What else could he be but that? Why else would she care for his company?

Just friends. Whatever that meant, he wasn't sure anymore. After their entanglement last night, he was particularly unsure, though she didn't seem to regret it. He was sailing in less than a week. Someone's heart was bound to break. He was determined that it would not be his. Damn siren. There might still be hope for him if he broke it off with her now.

He let go of her hand. Annoyed with himself for being weak. He used the children as an excuse to step away from her. Distracted himself with their chaperones. Tried to ignore the sound of his own heartbreaking.

* * *

They took advantage of the low tide and dug for buckets of clams and gathered baskets of kelp along the beach. Elizabeth found something tangled among the seaweed. A small black leathery square with strange spines curving out from each corner. It fit neatly in the palm of her hand.

"What is it?" asked Marta tugging on her arm. "Let me see! Let me see!"

Elizabeth held it firmly between her fingers to show the girl. "Careful," she said, worried about damaging it. "Do you know what it is?" she asked.

"Oh...! A mermaid purse!" said the girl excitedly. "Can I have it?" It was a coveted good luck charm among the children in Shipwreck City.

Mermaid purse? A sign that mermaids were in the area. Elizabeth scanned the horizon but didn't see anything but the roll of the sea. She strained to hear their hum, but all she could hear was the wind and the crash of the surf.

"Can I have it?" came the question again, with a tug on Elizabeth's sleeve. By now others had gathered to see the cause of the commotion.

"Do you think they'll come back for it?" asked Elizabeth turning to them. The children shrugged. Maybe. Elizabeth stared at the sea. She stared so long the children joined her. Is that one? Is that one? they asked and pointed, but it was just seafoam swirled up by a stiff wind.

"Has anyone ever seen a mermaid?" sighed Elizabeth, wondering if her recent sightings had been real or imagined.

They shook their heads. "My brother saw one when he was at sea," said Clara. "There was a bad storm and she led them to land. Some say she was trying to have them run aground, but he thinks she led them to safe harbour."

Jack was searching for oysters on the shore. They were usually found in deeper water, but some may have washed up in the storm. You never know if you might be lucky enough to find a pearl. He looked up from his work to see the children gathering around Elizabeth. He strolled over to see what was so interesting.

"Find something darling?" he asked, flashing a golden smile and turning on the charm. He frowned a little. Reminded himself that he wasn't supposed be to charming her.

They were just friends. Friends. No touching. He put his hands in his pockets to stop himself from reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear. To stop from putting his arm around her. Feel her soft skin under his fingertips. Feel her sighing breath on his neck.

Stop. He chided himself for feeling so roused. His hands in his pockets to hold back his desire. Took a deep breath. "What have you got there, Mrs. Turner?" With the emphasis on Mrs. They were just friends. She didn't want him. He told himself.

She held out her find for him to see. Mermaid purse. Ahhh... thought Jack, of course a siren like her would find such a thing. Even now he found himself entranced by her. He swallowed. Felt suddenly warm with the memory of her body pressed against his.

"So," he said, frowning at her hold on him, "found your purse did you? I always figured you to be part mermaid."

She smiled at his words, taking it for flirting, but when he didn't meet her eyes her smile faded. He looked up to see her frown and felt a slight pang of guilt or some small pain where his heart should be. He offered a strained half smile.

"Don't look so frightened, Jack," she said softly. "I promise not to drag you into the deep to drown."

He laughed and fought to keep his arms from reaching to draw her close. "I'm going to hold you to that," he said. Then, instead of giving her a kiss to seal their pact, he turned and walked away.

"Come on," he said over his shoulder, "tide's coming in. We best make ready to cast off." Elizabeth put the mermaid purse in her pocket. She and the children followed Jack to the boat. They would follow him anywhere.

* * *

Just friends. That was what she wanted, wasn't it? It was what she requested. That was supposed to be enough satisfy their attraction. No, not just an attraction, it was more than that. It went deeper. It was a connection. A touching of souls. She could see it, couldn't she? It was shining in his eyes. So why did she feel like he was avoiding her now?

She was infatuated. She didn't mean to be. She couldn't keep her her eyes off of him. Couldn't help but imagine his arms around her. His lips on her lips. His calloused hands wandering under cloth to find her skin. The sound of his voice. Everything about him.

She kept replaying intimate moments from yesterday. Every little compliment. Every small gift. Every touch. Every kiss. Just a look from him did things to her body. She found herself blushing at the mere thought of it. She felt things she'd never felt before. She revelled in the warm buzz of feeling desired.

She felt shamed at the memory of throwing herself at him last night. What must he think of her? How could he hold any respect for her after her behaviour last night? What lady would straddle a man's lap and let him remove her blouse? What lady would writhe and moan with his every touch?

Yet he was gentleman enough, even in his drunken state not to take advantage of her. It made her wonder now if perhaps he felt sorry for her. Was he only feigning desire out of pity? Did he find her prudish for not ...going all the way? How pathetic and lowly she suddenly felt.

She watched him help the children weigh anchor. Their little trip would soon be over and everything would go back to normal, whatever that might mean. The sails unfurled, their boat was off and bobbing along in rough waters.

What did it mean to be going back to Shipwreck City? She would return to her little room tonight. Leave the window unlatched for the cat to come in. He would go down to the docks and do whatever it was that he did, with women who were willing to do things that she...

That's where it all fell apart for her. How could things go back to the way they were, after last night? What happened yesterday that let her guard down? Why was she fool enough to kiss him? Why was she fool enough to drink with him? He must think her wonton for throwing herself at him and a prude for not going all the way.

She wanted to look up and find him staring, but he was busy. She watched him teach the shepherd boy how to properly reef a sail. Heard Captain Novella call her name and blushed to be caught day dreaming at her post. She hopped to and scrambled to tidy her lines.

She hated to think that he was right that Will was not man enough to satisfy her. Will was inexperienced, she didn't fault him for that. He had saved himself for her. He was gentle and fumbling in his love making. Their consummation was best described as awkward and painful. Will was bashful and apologetic when it was done and she was left wondering if that was all there was to it. After years of saving themselves, she found the act rather anticlimactic.

She just thought there would be more... something. She didn't know what it was that she was missing, only that something was wholly unsatisfying about the act. She would never admit as much out loud and she was adamant that she didn't love Will any less for it. Will was her husband. Will was dead. Will would be back.

She felt guilty to have survived the battle. She felt guilty for desiring another man. She felt trapped by her guilt. If only she could talk to him. If only she could explain her situation. She was alone and he was gone and Jack was... If only Will could see that her love for him was not diminished by this... infidelity? She recoiled at the thought of her... of what she had done.

She could tell him she was drunk, that she'd been taken advantage of. Her heart was big enough for both. But it was a lie. She knew in her heart that she desired Jack in wicked sinful ways. She desired Jack in ways that she'd never considered with Will.

It was best to be honest, wasn't it? It was better to tell Will how she felt. That she had fallen for someone else. Someone who loved her. Will would understand, wouldn't he? Sweet William Turner. He would want only the best for her.

She stared at the horizon, willing the Flying Dutchman to appear with all her might. She was used to her prayers going unanswered. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered. Perhaps it was out of habit. Please Will, she prayed, I just need to talk to you.

The sea swelled and the boat lurched. The knot in her stomach twisted. She stumbled trying to keep her feet. Just at that moment Jack was passing by and they caught each other. She felt weak. She held onto him for a moment longer than necessary to steady herself. Breathed his scent. Felt the strength in his arms holding her upright.

"Steady there," he mumbled, before letting her go.

How could she think that they could be just friends? Her heart raced at the sight of him. "Can we talk?" she asked. The crash of waves against the boat hid the anxiety in her voice. She felt a flush of heat and stomach churning bile rising.

He paused. "Uh...," he muttered. The only thing worse than a woman wanting to talk was a woman wanting to cry. This had all the markings of being both. He really didn't want to talk about last night. As sweet as it was, it would never work out. He would only need to avoid her a few more days before the Pearl set sail. He harden his heart against her feminine wiles. "Of course," he said, clearing his throat. "We're friends, aren't we?"

"About last night..." she started. She didn't see him blanche at those words. Something was rising in her. Some impending, inevitable thing. She pushed him aside and chummed the waters with tea and biscuits.

He stepped out of the way of the spray. "A little too much to drink last night," he whispered, rubbing her back, as she emptied herself into the sea.

He thought she was hungover. She wanted to slap him, but felt too sick to do anything. She turned around and slid down until she was sitting on the deck with her head between her knees. She took a couple of slow deep breaths. The cold slosh of the sea soaked her back as it washed over the deck. She shivered, but focused on her breath to calm herself and keep from vomiting again. Her eyes were tearing from the effort.

Jack took her hands and pressed his thumbs into the inside of her wrists. Another breath and she felt better. More in control of her body that wanted to rid itself of her insides.

"Have you got a pebble or something?" He asked, looking at her with concern. She pulled a handful of pretty shells and stones out of her pocket. Jack selected two, tore a strip from his sash and bound a pebble to the inside of each wrist. "Better?" he asked.

She nodded stupidly. He surprised her with this gentle caring act. She felt as though she was falling in love again. She didn't realize how deep the well of love could be. She wanted to kiss him, but her mouth was still sour with bile. She felt dirty and wretched and wanted to hide.

"Good," he said, wiping a tear from her cheek.

She spent the rest of the trip below deck willing herself not to feel sick as boat rolled across the swells. When they arrived back at the docks of Shipwreck City the children's parents were all waiting for them with open arms. She felt much better on the calm waters of the cove. Helped unload baskets of seaweed and buckets of clams. She watched bright eyed children share tales of their adventures. One by one they left with their families.

She watched men gather around Jack to talk business. He'd missed a day of preparation with their extended adventure. She felt her heart sink at the thought of his impending departure. She felt suddenly panicked at the thought of losing him.

"Elizabeth," he called, snapping her out of her daze. "There are some things I need to attend to." He looked like he was going to say something more, but the men were impatient and rushed him away and he went with them.

She stood by herself on the dock. Once again, she was all alone. The dark cloud of loneliness filled her until all she could see was black. She stumbled home to her tiny room. A vase of dead flowers on the dresser. She unlatched the window for the cat, the afternoon sun streaming in. She crawled into bed, and dreamed of living alone trapped in a gilded cage of her own creation and a yearning to swim with the mermaids.

* * *

 ** _Ah... you thought I've give you a happy ending already? Oh no no no... the slow burn of ambiguous human relationships continues. That's what you're here for isn't it?_**

 ** _I'm just relieved that we're finally off that island._**

 ** _Note to self. When writing in OCs don't do 12 all at once. Whooooo... what a pain in the ass that was. And really I probably could have done with half? A third? of those kids. Anyhoo... onward._**

 ** _I hope this story still makes sense sometimes so much time passes between chapters that I forget what I've actually written and posted vs written and deleted vs stuff that still swirling around in my head. Drop me a review or PM if you think I'm off track._**

 ** _If you like this so far (I assume you do, we're almost 30 chapters in and my updates are sporadic, so you must be true fans, right?) please follow, favourite and review._**


	30. Chapter 30

_**Thank you to my reviewers: Dragons-Twilight1992, Queensdoitbetter, Sleepy Lotus, scarletvixenwthorns, River, HannaMi3, festen, and kardamon.**_

 _ **I don't own the things, Disney does. Though we got lots of OCs and I'm pretty far from canon on a lot of things at this point.**_

 _ **There is some racy french dialogue in this chapter. apologies to french speakers for my poor french, it all google translates well into english. if you do speak french please let me know if I've used google effectively. (Update:**_ ** _LaPolichinelle helped me fix my French. I think I got most of the worst of it. Thanks!)_**

 _ **Oh, and for anyone wondering what exactly happened between Jack and Elizabeth that night on the island. I decided I also needed to know. You can find it in "Outtakes Miseducation of Captain Swann." These are M rated bits that fill in some blanks that may not be appropriate for a T rated story.**_

* * *

Chp 30

The trip back to Shipwreck Cove started rough and just got worse. Before long their fishing boat was battling eight foot swells every ten seconds. Elizabeth wasn't the only one to succumb to seasickness. The shepherd boy, was soon to join her. Then one by one others started to fall, until they were half the crew they started with.

Jack held the boat straight and shouted encouragement to keep the rest of the crew from panicking with every wave that broke on deck. At least the wind was in their favour. He was actually quite happy to be back on the water. He was in his element. He'd forgotten how much he missed dancing with the waves.

The sea was a jealous mistress who demanded all of his attention. He focused on finding the flattest path between the swells. So, he was thoroughly distracted from thinking about how it felt to have his arms wrapped around a certain pirate king. He didn't have time to think about how it felt when she kissed him in the rain. His mind wasn't free to contemplate how she straddled his lap and pinned him against the wall last night. For two full hours he didn't have time to fantasize about her.

If he'd had all that time to think about Elizabeth Swann, he might have convinced himself that it could work out. Instead, he found himself thinking about how much he missed the Black Pearl. He was itching to get her back on the open ocean. See how fast she could run. The adventure of discovering new lands, finding hidden treasures. He found himself feeling excited to be leaving soon.

It was a relief for everyone when they finally arrived in the Devil's Throat. It's narrowest pinch point was a breeze to navigate in this small ship. He turned over the helm to Clara, once they reached the flat waters of the cove. The children, at least those still above deck, were chilled to the bone, high on adrenalin, and thankful to be home. They waved with both arms to their parents on the docks of the fishing village, who were anxious to see them again.

Despite being cold, tired and soaked to the skin, Jack was feeling rather puffed up, when he stepped off the ship to a dock full of people singing his praises. The children thanking him for the best trip ever, begging him to stay longer. Their parents thankful that he got them home safe. Townsfolk who he'd never met before smiling and waving or shaking his hand, for what, exactly, he wasn't sure. He wasn't used to all the positive attention. He found himself letting his guard down a little and feeling a little drunk on their praise.

"Rough water today, Jack, but not so bad as yesterday's storm," noted one man. "It seems Calypso is becoming more fickle, now that she is unbound. We were a little concerned that you lot might have gotten caught in it."

"Well, Captain Novella made the call to spend the night," said Jack, feeling generous enough to share the praise with Clara, and perhaps dispel suspicion that he had plotted to keep Elizabeth in his company overnight.

"Smart thinking," the parents smiled their agreement, though they were certain Jack had a say in that decision. They nodded knowingly to each other when they caught him looking over at the pirate king.

Elizabeth was helping the children unload their harvest. It would be clams tonight for many dinners. She looked a little worn out and Jack felt a wee pang somewhere in his chest, where such guilty pangs are usually felt. He should check on her. They hadn't really had a chance to speak since she went below deck overcome with nausea.

He wanted to know if she was alright, but had already made up his mind that he was not the man she should turn to for comfort. She was fine, he told himself. She was stronger and more stubborn than most people he knew. He sighed, hardened his heart and looked away.

"Hey Jacky," said a sailor in a hoarse whisper. He pulled Jack into a huddle with some other men. "So tell us, did you, uh, did you grind her corn?" he asked snickering, as he nodded towards Elizabeth.

"Yeah Jack," added another, "we have a wee wager going, that you gave the girl a green gown on Samson island."

"Not much grass on that island," laughed the first man. "Hope you put your coat down on the sand for her. Keep from chaffing."

Jack smiled at their mirth, but shook his head. Perhaps he should take offence at their wager, but he'd put into such a gambling many times before. It was harmless enough to pass the time.

"We're just friends," he said, trying to sound upbeat. He could have said different. In other circumstances he would have, but something paused his tongue. He didn't feel right lying about this.

They laughed, taking his response as being coy. "You usually beg forgiveness, rather than ask for permission, don't you Jacky boy?" Pirates were known for taking what they wanted. Jack was such a pirate, and it had been clear for weeks that he wanted Elizabeth Swann. "She'll make a gentleman of you yet, if you're not careful, Jack," ribbed one man.

"She is married to the Dutchman," said Jack, fighting another sigh that wanted to escape him. Blaming Will for his inaction was an excuse as much for himself as warning to the others not to take advantage of her. "I know William Turner. Bit of a pansy boy, in my opinion, but he would do anything for her favour and wouldn't take kindly to anyone taking advantage of her. Would you dare cross the Dutchman and risk eternity in his locker?" Jack said these words almost as much to convince himself as anyone else that Elizabeth was off limits.

He didn't like to think that she might not be interested in him. Perhaps there was something about him that changed her mind. Something about him that made her hesitate. She was probably right to stay away. What good was he to her? She deserved better.

"Balderdash!" Huffed one jolly sea dog. Jack had a rather bad (or good depending on your perspective) reputation of being a womanizer. They didn't think much of his insistence that nothing had happened. "She's been to world's end to rescue you from the locker. You don't think she'd do it again? If you want her, you should take her. Right, boys?" The men laughed and clapped Jack on the back.

Is that what they thought? Jack wondered if he would end up in purgatory again and if she would, once again, fight for his release. Perhaps they saw something that he didn't. Perhaps he was afraid to see that she might protect him. That she might love him. He didn't want to let himself hope for such a thing because the disappointment of finding out it wasn't true would break him.

It's true she had travelled to world's end to fetch him once before. But that was out of guilt for sending him there in the first place. If she wanted to be with him, it would have to be her choice. She would need to be the one to break her promise with Will Turner, whatever it was that they promised each other. She would need to be the one to petition for his release if he ended up back in the locker.

He looked up at her, making small talk with the children and their parents. He wondered if that whelp Turner was man enough to have made her a mother. She would be a good one. He tried to stop from wondering if she'd ever make him a father. Tried not to think about what their child might look like.

What good would he be to her anyway? He was a pirate. A pirate! He was very good at being a pirate. The best. He loved sailing. He loved the adventure. He loved to thumb his nose at authority. He excelled at stealing things from under people's noses, winning a in a sword fight, outwitting his captors. What did he know of being a husband or a father, except to be away at sea? What could he offer her but an empty house and heartbreak, when he was off sailing with no guarantee of return?

A jolly sailor elbowed Jack in the ribs, "c'mon now Jack, have a drink with us in the old town before you head back down to the Pearl. We'll buy you a pint, and maybe get you laid, if you need it to make up for last night," he added with a nudge and a wink.

The men cheered. "Aye Jack, you've a reputation to maintain. There's a few hens been waiting for you to spend some coin for a lay. The girls has been disappointed that you hain't been coming around much lately. Rumour has it you've gone and fallen for someone..."

Ohhhhhh... the men crowed. "Ah first it's love. Next you'll find yourself tied to her, like an anchor around your neck. No more dogging around the brothels and taverns, she'll have you home before dark. House full of kids. You'll hardly have the time or space to lie in your own bed. I reckon that's a worse prison than Davey Jones' locker to a free bird like you Jack."

Jack took a breath and swallowed the panic he felt at the sound of those words. Elizabeth Swann was not going to have him trapped. It was time to move on. He shared a smile with the men, but before he could respond, a familiar face came jogging down the shore.

It was one of the new crewmen that he'd recently recruited. "Captain Sparrow, Mr. Gibbs has been looking for you," said the man. "Something about a bell you'd be interested in."

Jack's eyes lit up with excitement. Ah, he was hoping for this news. If it was what he thought it might be, this was just what they would need to recover goods from a sunken ship. It was all he could do to keep from running back to the Pearl. Jack turned to the jolly sailor, "rain check on that drink mate."

"What's that? Tinker bells?" joked the men, wondering what it was that had Jack lit up. "You're never one to turn down a drink."

"Later lads, duty calls," said Jack excitedly. "I must get back to see to this matter."

He looked up to the dock. The crowd slowly dispersing, Elizabeth standing alone, watching the children being reunited with their families. He cleared his throat. "Elizabeth," he called out. She looked over and smiled at him. The kind of smile that seemed to clear away the grey of this cloudy day.

He paused to take a breath and drink in her beauty. Damn siren. She still had her hooks in his heart. He tried not to think about pulling her close and sliding his hand under her shirt. Feeling her cool skin under his fingertips. Taste her sweet lips while her hands tangled in his hair. Tried not to think about how well their bodies fit together. About how he lov... about how he might...

He needed to get out of here and shake that feeling of wanting to settle down. He reminded himself that it would never work out. He was a pirate and wanted to take what she wasn't willing to give. She made that clear last night. He'd come up against the boundary of their friendship, he wasn't going to cross it.

He gathered himself. Focus. "Elizabeth, there are some things I need to attend to." He was going to say something else. That he would see her tonight. Or that they would talk soon, but he hesitated and couldn't find the words. Instead, he found himself walking away with the new man towards his first true love, the Black Pearl.

It felt cruel to leave Elizabeth on the dock like that. He didn't plan on it. It just kind of happened. Besides, it was for the best, wasn't it? He didn't want her pretty face, hanging about and setting fire to his loins. Now that his mind was made up, he reminded himself it was never his intention to fall in love. It was better to break things off now and selfishly guard his heart against her.

* * *

She woke disoriented. It was too bright out. She shut her eyes tight. She prayed for darkness. Her head hurt. It took a moment to realize the heaviness on her chest was as much cat as heartache. She lay on top of the sheets in her damp dirty sailing clothes. She could feel the grit of sand had escaped into her bed. Orange cat had made himself comfortable, his face inches from her own.

She was tired. Her stomach felt off. Something like hunger or cramps or gas. Her bladder needed emptying. There was a pressure behind her eyes that hurt less when she kept them shut. Her mouth felt dry and pasty. She was sure to vomit if she got up too quickly. The thought of getting out of bed seemed an unrealistic expectation. She hated her life right now.

She couldn't remember how exactly she got from the fishing village back to her room. It was about a mile along the shore and up the main road. She remembered feeling wretched and abandoned watching Jack walk away.

She could have said something. Could have asked him to wait for her. But she was too wrapped up in her own loneliness to speak out. And then he was so far along and away that she'd feel the fool chasing after him.

She was standing on the dock feeling sick to her stomach. The black pit of loneliness spreading like a chasm before her, as the children, wrapped in blankets and coats too big for them, hugged her goodbye and walked away with their families. Her own journey home, a blurry memory of stumbling along the shore with a dark cloud over her heart.

Seeing the joy in people's faces as the children were reunited with their parents made her long for her father. Worse, it made her miss her mother. This feeling of abandonment was an echo of how she felt when she was sent away to live with her uncle and cousins in the country after her mother died.

She never felt so lonely as that first night at her uncle's house. Lying next to her cousin Mary snoring in the bed. How could you feel so alone in a house full a people?

Sunday's in the village, she and her cousins would gather with the other children for Sunday school and play in the square while the grown ups did grown up things. It was a place where everyone else had mummies and daddies to love them. She was supposed to be grateful to be taken in rather than sent to an orphanage to await her fathers return. She would cry when someone asked if anyone was ever going to come for her.

Her father was away enough to seem a stranger. He was a portrait above the mantle. She didn't know if he would come. She didn't know if he would be kind to her. He was someone that her uncle cursed regularly, for not coming sooner to fetch her.

She was an unwanted burden. She stopped eating when her uncle complained day after day about having another mouth to feed. Then she was soundly spanked and sent to the corner, for being seen as too spoiled on city food to appreciate their simple country fare. You're not special they would scold.

Her cousins took up that phrase to taunt her if ever they saw anyone feel pity enough show her some kindness. You're not special, they would say when the shopkeeper offered her a piece of penny candy after hearing about her circumstance. You're not special, they said when the teacher praised her ability to read. You're not special.

She didn't know how to be good. She didn't know how to please anyone in her new situation. She prayed to be invisible, to disappear into the background. She felt lost and lay awake at night anxious about her future and dreading each new day.

But that was then, she scolded herself. Now was very different, wasn't it? True, Will had died and her father too. True that most everything she'd known had been turn on its head or taken from her. But she was a grown woman now, and fully capable of taking care of herself. She was not that grief stricken little girl anymore. She could adapt to this new life.

She was not alone. There were people here who cared about her. The crew, of course. She was getting along well with the townsfolk she met and felt a growing closeness with those she started opening up to. Jack cared too, even if it was only as a friend. She was afraid to hope that he might love her any more than that. It was enough wasn't it? It would have to be.

He had left her on the dock with hardly any good bye. He was busy, she told herself, trying not to take it personally. Pushing away the darkness. They were friends. Good friends. He was just anxious because he'd missed a day of preparations. He didn't mean anything by leaving her like that, he was just distracted. She could go find him tonight on the Pearl, like she always did. The crew would be glad to see her.

Though try as she might, she could keep neither her insecurities nor her fantasies at bay. Maybe Jack didn't think about her the same way she did about him. Maybe she should have given into his desires last night. Maybe she disappointed him. He was so much more experienced than she, perhaps he'd had expectations? What if that was her one chance to... be with him?

Part of her wished he had been more insistent, that he, overcome with passion, would have taken her against her wishes. Perhaps he just didn't like what he saw once he had a closer look. Maybe there was something wrong with her. Was she not pretty enough? Too thin? Too flat? Too tense? Maybe she was not special.

What made her pause? Maybe she wanted some promise from him. Some kind of commitment. She was just looking out for herself. She just wanted to be sure...

Sure of what? That he wouldn't hurt her? That he would forsake all others for her? Did she wish to marry him? Would she agree to it if he asked? Would she trust him with his vows?

Maybe she had this upside down. He was just doing her bidding. Did she lead him on with her kisses? She was the one who insisted that they just be friends. She was the one who hesitated when he made his intentions clear. Perhaps the issue of commitment didn't lie with him, but rather rested in her hands. She was the one who put up the boundary of friendship. Perhaps it was time to reconsider what she was willing to commit to. Would she commit herself to Jack and go against her vow to Will?

Orange cat meowed for attention. She scratched his head with both hands until he rumbled and drooled with contentment. Oh, how she had purred for Jack last night. She blushed with shame ...or was she just flush with the heat of the memory?

The lapping flames of desire were making her sweat. She was slippery with desire. If he were here now, would she give in and open herself up to him? She imagined the thump of her headboard against the thin walls of this inn. Would she finally have her turn in joining the rhythm of people's love making? Those pleading mewling panting animal sounds through the walls that kept her up so many lonesome nights. Would she moan in ecstasy? Would he grunt like a rutting beast and call out her name as he came?

Oh, Jack. What was it that he said that time he proposed to her? It was rather more like like a proposition than a proposal, really, but he was a pirate after all. Something about curiosity.

She had predicted correctly that he would prove himself good. That he would want to be admired and reap the rewards that followed. It didn't go quite as she thought. She didn't expect herself standing on this side of the law, but Jack had proven himself and it was clear he had won the admiration of Shipwreck City.

Would his prediction prove true as well? That she longed to do whatever she wanted to do and act on selfish impulse. He was cocky enough to think that he was the one to pique her curiosity. She'd almost won a kiss from him that day, but he turned away at the last moment. She pretended that she was proud of his restraint. But her curiosity about how that moment might have gone differently was something that kept her awake at night.

She hugged the cat, kissing his furry face and squeezing him until he meowed in protest and removed himself to her dressing table. Elizabeth lay back, hugging herself. How could he know just how to touch her to make her body yearn for him? How did he know just how to tempt her? When he kissed her under the mango tree, it was the first time in a long time that she'd felt so safe and joyful. If she could capture that feeling in a bottle, she would drink its happiness every day.

She looked at her arms still bound with cloth torn from his sash. How chivalrous and gentle and thoughtful and clever and caring it was for him to do that, she gushed. He wasn't a pirate at heart, he was a gentleman. He was her knight in shining armour, who'd come to her rescue so many times. She unbound her wrists. The pebbles had left divots in her flesh. She held the torn cloth to her face trying to catch his scent.

She looked at the scar on her arm. P for pirate. She was a branded. It named her. Defined her. She decided in that moment that she didn't want to be a good girl anymore. She knew what she wanted. She wanted to be sinful. She knew who she wanted to be sinful with.

Curiosity was getting the better of her. She longed to know what it was like to love Jack Sparrow. There was nothing to stop her but propriety and no one here seemed to care very much about that. He would be leaving soon. She was wasting time.

* * *

"Mr. Gibbs," called Jack, as he boarded the Pearl, "I hear you have word of a bell."

"Captain!" Gibbs replied following Jack into his cabin. "Welcome back! Quite a storm we had yesterday." He looked around and out to the dock. "Where's Elizabeth?"

"She's back safe," Jack said, striping off his wet clothes in exchange for dry ones. He frowned at the state of his sash. It was rather tattered and shortened with his attempts to manage the crew's nausea on their trip back. "Had a bout of seasickness. I expect she's resting up at the inn."

Gibbs frowned, "you expect..?" He had expected Elizabeth to be with Jack or at least that he'd have walked her home as he was wont to do. He raised an eyebrow and was about to ask if there was some falling out between them.

"Right," said Jack changing the subject. "About that bell where is it? Who has it? How much do they want for it?" He fired off questions in a commanding kind of way. Gibbs was both easily distracted and used to following orders. Jack had no interest in entertaining questions about Elizabeth right now. It was bad enough Gibbs had him wondering if she got home safe.

"Ah yes, the diving bell," Gibbs ushered Jack off the ship. "Frenchman by the name of Cousteau had one stowed on Chevalle's ship. He's a bit of an expert with underseas exploration. Now it seems Chevalle needed the space for finer cargo and had the bell taken off his ship." They were strolling at a quick clip down the dock and up onto the streets. "This Cousteau fellow is looking for a new home for himself and his diving bell."

"So where's the bell now?" asked Jack, quickening his pace to keep up.

"Cousteau's a wily character," replied Gibbs, "he wouldn't tell me, said he wanted to meet with you first." They wound down the streets to the french quarter. "Here we are."

They stopped in front of Chez Collette. Not one of Jack's usual haunts. His defences were up. He preferred to hold negotiations in familiar territory. Never liked walking cold into a building. He was searching for exits before they even set foot in the place.

"Capitaine Jacque!" Jack was taken a back to hear his name as he crossed the threshold. His first reaction was to hide or deny or deflect. He wondered who was here that he might owe money or favours or both.

A man with a big smile and big meaty hands, shook Jack's hand so hard his teeth rattled with the force of it. "Merci pour la victoire!" The man offered him a drink and a seat at the bar. Jack grabbed the drink and with a hearty smashing of mugs they toasted him and he so graciously toasted them back. "Vive les pirates libres!" The locals gathered around to shake his hand or slap his back or offer him another drink. This was the kind of welcome he could get used to. Maybe this was just what he needed to get Elizabeth off his mind.

"C'est le moineau!" a group of women whispered drawing near. He smiled at their translation of his name.

"Oh, il est mignon," they tittered and hid their smiles behind their fans as he took sideways glances to looked them up and down. "Ils disent qu'il est monté comme un étalon," they said in whispered giggles, as they returned his gaze.

"Bonjour Capitaine," said one of them coquettishly. She wore a fashionable dress, cut low in the front, cinched tight at the waist and billowed over panniers that accentuated her hips. She was dusted a pale white, having powdered herself with rice flour. Her hair was teased out in a big soft cloud around her small face. Her lips and cheeks rouged in a dramatic red, from a dye made of crushed beetles. "Cherchez-vous à baiser?" she added rather boldly when Jack kissed the hand she extended to him.

Her skin was soft and she smelled of roses. Ah, french prostitutes, how he missed them. Her soft, delicate hands had never hauled a rope. They would blister within the hour.

Gibbs was clearing his throat to usher the Captain along. "Pas maintenant, chérie," Jack replied, with a grin, his eyes cast too low to see her frown. She wore a necklace who's amber pendant drew the eye to her breast. It was a lovely... pendant.

Another woman, slender and graceful, approached and leaned on her friend while extending her hand, "voulez-vous un délice de l'après-midi?" Though similarly gowned and coifed, she was more beautiful than the first. "Peut-être un ménage à trois, Capitaine?" she smiled.

Ah, well now they had his attention. He did, after all, enjoy pleasures of the flesh and twice the ladies could mean twice the pleasure. He wondered if he could afford them both.

Sensing his hesitation she drew closer and added, "Vous avez été si courageux dans la bataille. Nous vous devons tellement. Nous vous en offrons deux pour le prix d'une."

He flexed instinctively when she touched his bicep and she gasped appreciatively at his muscles. Two for the price of one, mulled Jack, as he mentally counted the coins in his purse. He could feel the softness of her bosom brush against his arm.

Ahem. Gibbs nudged him, "Captain, we're here to see about a bell..?"

"Yes," replied Jack absently, with a woman now hanging off each arm. This was the kind of welcome his ego could get use to, he thought. He was feeling rather good about his prospects. Better than his luck last night, though he shouldn't think that way. She was a friend. He turned his attention back to these women. Perhaps they were the cure to his heartsick malaise. "They are belle," he smiled and they blushed.

Gibbs was a little concerned and annoyed with the Captain, partly out of practiced responsibility of keeping said Captain on track, and partly because of his concern and loyalty to Elizabeth. He told himself he should stay out of it. Perhaps it was for the best Jack satiate his desires with whores. He was a pirate after all and probably not the kind who would do well by Elizabeth. "The diving bell, Captain?" he huffed.

Jack snapped out of his trance. Must be the kind of wine they were serving that was going to his head in funny ways. Jack shook it off. Of course. The bell. Focus. That would make him rich enough to take his pleasure whenever he saw fit.

"J'ai des affaires," he said to the women, who sulked disappointedly as he detached them from his arms. "Peut-être pouvons-nous faire cela plus tard?" He suggested, squeezing their bottoms and stealing a kiss from each of the women, before he followed Gibbs to the back of the room. He glanced back once to catch them undressing him with their eyes. He smiled to himself, pleased to know he still had his charm.

* * *

Elizabeth looked at herself in the mirror. A thin tanned faced looked back at her. Somewhere in the last weeks or months she lost that doe-eyed softness she once had. The face she sported now looked drawn and tired. She was far from matronly, but that glow of innocence was lost.

She wished for powder. She wished for rouge. She wished for perfume, the kind that smelled of the tiny purple blossoms that brought joy to the sunless days of the London of her youth. She wish for a maid to help braid her hair. She wished her father was still alive to spoil her with new dresses. Oh, what a ridiculous number of dresses she once had to choose from.

She would wear the pale blue one, with lace sleeves and full skirt of embroidered flowers. And shoes. She could wear those cute silk shoes, the ones with a two inch heel and thick ribbons to lace them up.

She looked around her spartan little room. One set of work clothes. One dress, so plain it begged for trim and embroidery every time she put it on. One pair of boots too big for her feet. One sword, a gift from Will. A dagger from the market in Marrakech. One orange cat looking rather unimpressed at her. Vase of dead flowers. Pocket full of childish treasures from the beach. Well, there was no use in pining for what she didn't have.

She got up slowly to give her stomach time to settle with the movement. Washed her hands and face and her arms up past her elbows. It felt good to rinse off the grit from the day.

She brushed her hair. It had grown almost long enough to reach halfway down her back. It fell straight and flat around her face. No mermaid waves. She pulled out a small pot of salve made from coconut oil and worked some into the dry, sun bleached ends of her hair. She brushed her hair until it shone.

If only she has curling papers and ironing tongs... and someone to help her curl her hair. On her own, she'd just as likely burn her neck and ears and set her hair on fire. If she had more time she could set her hair tonight for tomorrow, but she was impatient. She'd already wasted too much time. She would just have to see what could be done on her own.

She separated her hair into sections and pinned them up out of her way. She took the front section and back combed it until it was a big fluffy rats nest of hair that stood straight up from her head. The sea water seemed to help everything stay a little tacky which kept the pile from collapsing. Next she did the crown and so on until she felt she had enough height. Then she combed a smooth layer of hair over everything. She gathered it all in the back in a bow.

She wet the tails with water and twisted sections until they curled up on themselves. She hoped that they would dry as curls. Ideally she would have curling papers and sleep on this style to let it set, but there was no time for that.

She undressed and frowned at her form reflected in the mirror. Thin and brown and angular. Like a twig. She leaned over and inspected her bosom. Sighed, a little disappointed at the results. She pushed her breasts together to create some cleavage. Bound her breasts up and in to create the illusion of a more ample chest.

She pulled on her dress and buttoned up the front. Tightened the laces in the back of her dress until the buttons in the front threatened to pop. She balled up a piece of Jack's sash and tucked it under her breast. She did the same with the other side. She was pleased with her enhancement. Took a moment to adjust and smooth out the lumps. Jumped and jiggled a little to ensure everything would stay in place.

She looked at her boots. Shoes were so awfully expensive. And pretty shoes were frivolous: impractical and expensive. How often had she ruined a pair of silk shoes in the rain? Often enough that she'd been on the receiving end of more than one lashing from her governess for not being more careful.

She hated her big black boots. Stolen from a dead man, they were ugly and too big for her feet. She pulled them on and felt sad. She check the length of her skirt, as she always did. It was long, but not quite long enough to completely hide those boots.

She unbuttoned the top two buttons in the front of her gown. That was enough to allow her to ease the dress off her shoulders and shimmy the skirt down another half inch to kiss the floor. This had the added benefit of displaying more of her décolletage. She adjusted her dress and padding and smiled at the result.

Her outfit would benefit from some jewelry. Perhaps a necklace to draw the eye down and give the viewer an excuse to pause. What a lovely... pendant, they would say. It was not always pleasant to hear. Certainly there were parties she'd attended at her fathers request where old men would find reason to leer.

Something red and shiny caught her eye. That piece of coral as thick as her thumb and hollow like a bead. She held it between her thumb and forefinger. A cylinder with small nubs where branches would have once protruded. It reminded her of Jack's beads. Each bead a memory of some event. Perhaps this could mark time for her as well. It could mark the time she let herself fall in love again.

She found a length of ribbon in her drawer and threaded the coral bead through it. She tied it around her neck. It felt heavy and cool against her skin. As bright and red as blood from a fresh cut.

She covered the bead with her hand and glanced over at her sword. She tried not to think about all the times she'd drawn blood. Was she a fool to think she could be a lady again after everything she'd done? After everything she'd witnessed?

She picked up her bottle of kohl. The one she's stolen from Jack. The one he'd gifted back to her. A small silver bottle with a round belly. Part lady part pirate. Isn't that what Tai Huang said? She could be both. She just needed to figure out how.

She took the applicator and darkened her eyelashes with kohl. She carefully lined her eyes with it. She took her finger to smudged and soften it under her eyes. There was something about doing this that made her long for him. He was in her blood like holy wine, so bitter and so sweet.

She was wasting time. She tucked her dagger and her purse into her sash. Checked herself in the mirror one last time and set out to find her man.

* * *

 ** _This is one of those internal dialogue chapters. Ho hum. A lot of words and not a lot of action. Just setting things up for what is to come._**

 ** _We are stumbling towards the home stretch, and here I find myself unexpectedly adding new OCs. Perhaps I'll be trapped in here forever. But seriously, I stepped into this fiction with a clear arch for where I want to end up and though I'm not sure I have the stamina to get through all 3 or 4 parts of this story, I promise to finish part 1 of this tale, as ambiguous as the ending of part 1 may be. There will be a somewhat satisfactory end._**

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